by Mel Sherratt
Yet, even after a tough workout, Dale Chapman hadn’t been able to rid himself of his stress. He’d thought a five-kilometre run followed by a weight-training session would have made him feel better, but it hadn’t worked. He was always waiting for a hand to drop on his shoulder. He shouldn’t have come really, but he was sick of putting off the inevitable. He had to get this mess sorted.
He’d almost broken the speed limit driving home. Who the hell did Leon Steele think he was, threatening him? Sure, he owed him money, but he was paying it back in other ways and Leon should be grateful that he’d got him the property to use.
Anger coursed through him, interspersed with fear. He was trapped. Unable to pay the person blackmailing him, which was why he’d taken out the loan in the first place. He’d known it was a fool’s game to take money from Leon, but he hadn’t had a choice. Dale had to look after his own. If things got out, he would lose everything. Denying stuff was fine; there being tangible evidence was a whole new ball game. The Steele family were a law unto themselves.
He pulled into the driveway of his home, deadened the engine on his car and sat still for a moment. Despite the unhealthy yearnings he’d managed to keep from his family so far, Dale had done well for himself in Stoke, having set up his own electronics firm. Now he employed over seventy staff and had a top-class designer who was getting their business name known in far-off places.
The house he was sitting outside said he had made it. After trading up from a tiny two-up, two-down in a cheaper area of Stoke-on-Trent, he’d moved three times over the past twenty years, each one a larger property than the one before. He now lived in a five-bedroomed, individually designed home in a row of exclusive properties in Barlaston. He’d chosen the area due to its location only a few miles from the M6. He spent hours driving its length and breadth every week.
This one had not only cost an arm and leg to purchase, it had cost him his sanity, working to make ends meet for the mortgage. Thankfully, only the youngest son was at home now, having arrived fifteen years after the last.
When he finally got out of the car, the boom of music blaring from Oliver’s bedroom made him sigh. He retrieved his gym bag from the rear seat of the car and closed the door. The alarm’s lights broke into the darkness as two small beeps went off.
He took a few steps towards the front door. Had it been quieter, he might have heard the footfall behind him. A hand on his shoulder made him flinch and the hooded jumper that he’d slung over the top of the bag slid to the ground.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he said when he turned. ‘I told you not to—’
But the words were lost, along with two teeth, as something heavy slammed into his mouth. His head reared to one side with the force, blood spurting out across the driveway. He didn’t have time to react before something slammed into his face again. He dropped to his knees as it hit him for a third time. Dazed, he couldn’t even help himself.
His attacker pushed him over, pinning him down as he writhed about in agony. By the time he was hit for the fourth time, he’d lost count. He no longer knew what was happening.
TWENTY-ONE
Grace was in the station car park. It had been four days since the murder of Josh Parker, and they’d had another late finish. It was nearly ten p.m. and she and Perry were the last to leave.
Despite the hour, all Grace needed right now was a dip in the bath and a glass of something chilled so she could have time to think away from the noise of the station. She had a head full of possibilities, links and queries, often finding her best theories at home when it was quiet. A snippet of information filtered through to fill in a missing link. A piece of the jigsaw slotted into place.
Before Grace had reached her car, a call came through from Nick.
‘There’s been another suspicious death. Can you join me?’
‘Sure.’ Grace waved to Perry, beckoning him over when she caught his eye.
‘Anyone there with you?’
‘Perry.’
‘Bring him too.’
Grace jotted down the address. She was beginning to know the city well already with its tight-knit roads and D-road, the Potteries Way and the long, long Leek Road.
‘What’s up?’ Perry asked.
‘Another murder. Your car or mine?’
‘That’s all we need.’ Perry yawned loudly. ‘And I was about to get a takeaway. Lisa won’t be too impressed about spending another evening alo— Oh, sorry, I didn’t think.’
Grace knew he thought he’d put his foot in it, forgetting that she spent most of her time alone. She waved his remark away. ‘We’ll take my car, and you can order something for her on the way. Blimey, there’s a right nip in the air. It’ll be Christmas in the blink of an eye.’
‘I’m really looking forward to it this year. I’m down on the roster for my first one off in years.’
‘Aw, your first as a family too.’ Grace grinned, then rolled her eyes as her detective constable went all gooey-eyed on her. ‘Did Alfie sleep any better last night?’
‘He made three whole hours.’
‘Ouch.’
One glance at Perry’s face told her that everything was fine regardless. She was pleased that their relationship seemed to have improved slightly since their outburst in the office. Perry often talked to Sam about his wife and child, but not so much to Grace. She liked to think it was because he was sensitive to the fact that she had lost Matt, but she wasn’t too sure he was just ignoring her. So it was good he was making an effort.
Barnaby Drive was lit up by lights from emergency service vehicles when they arrived on scene. Grace drew up outside number 8 just behind an ambulance.
‘Anyone you know?’ She turned to Perry as she killed the engine.
‘Not on first hearing his name. Impressive house, though.’
Another ambulance near to the front door was parked, its emergency siren and lights turned off. At Grace’s estimate, there would be room to park at least five cars. After showing their warrant cards, she and Perry stepped under the crime scene tape, immediately hearing howls of grief from the house next door. She knew it was more than likely one of the family of the deceased that had vacated to there. The noise chilled Grace to the bone and she pushed back her emotions. She could deal with seeing anything by now, but the sounds of someone suffering got under her skin every time. She blocked it out as they dressed in forensic gear.
Nick briefed them both on what had happened and then they stepped inside the tent.
‘Well, hello again,’ Dave Barnett said. ‘This is a nasty one, so be prepared if you want to see what’s left of his face.’
Grace steeled herself as she stepped closer. Several teeth were scattered around in tiny pools of blood. She couldn’t tell what colour the victim’s hair had been because it was coated in the thick red substance. Where his face should have been was a mash of bone and mucus and pulp. It was her turn to almost vomit this time. She looked away for a moment to compose herself.
‘That’s brutal.’ Perry held a hand to his mask.
‘Yes, our suspect must be covered in blood,’ Dave added. ‘Your victim probably would have gone down easily after a couple of hits, I reckon. It was quite a frenzied attack. His wife found him. I’ve seen some sights, but this is one of the worst. I can’t begin to imagine how that must have been. I doubt she’ll sleep for weeks.’
‘How cruel to do it right outside his home,’ Grace acknowledged. ‘It’s rather personal, the same as the attack on Josh Parker. Like a hit, don’t you think?’
‘It’s possible. Because he has a single stab wound to the chest too.’
Grace and Perry cursed in unison.
‘Are you any further forward with the last murder?’ Dave added.
‘We’re still gathering evidence.’ Grace paused before saying what she was thinking. ‘These knife attacks. Do you think they’re symbolic? Maybe stabs to the heart? That would definitely be a more personal link.’
Dave nodded. ‘It
could be a possibility.’
Grace left Perry outside and went next door with Nick. As a detective constable, she had always found it daunting, but necessary, to go in to speak to relatives directly after a murder had happened. To be there as a detective sergeant was even more harrowing after such a brutal murder, but it was still something she saw as vital.
Dale Chapman’s wife, Denise, was sitting at the kitchen table. A middle-aged woman, she had short brown hair that suited her long face. She played with a pair of red glasses in her hand, scrunched a tissue in the other. A young PC Grace hadn’t seen before was sitting by her side.
Nick introduced them and pulled out a chair, sitting across from them both. Grace followed suit and sat next to him.
‘We are so sorry for your loss, Mrs Chapman. Are you able to run me through everything, please?’ Nick said. ‘It’s vital for us to understand what happened.’
‘I saw the outside lights come on so I knew Dale had come home,’ she began. ‘But when I didn’t see him after a few minutes, I came outside to investigate. Ralph spotted him first.’
‘Ralph?’ Nick questioned.
‘Our dog. He’s covered in Dale’s blood!’
Grace glanced at Nick sideways, trying not to flinch.
‘It was then that I saw him on the floor. He … he …’ Denise broke down again. ‘How could someone be so barbaric?’
‘Do you know why anyone would want to hurt your husband?’ Nick continued.
‘No! Dale was a kind man! No one would do that to him.’ She retched and covered her mouth with her hand before running out of the room.
They let her go. Grace would need space if this had happened to her.
‘Do we know who else was in the house …?’ she asked the woman left sitting across from them. ‘Sorry, we haven’t met.’
‘PC Maxine Wren. Their son, Oliver, ran upstairs as soon as we brought him round. The owners of the house let him use their bedroom to get away. They’re both in the living room.’
‘I’ll go and talk to Oliver,’ Grace told Nick.
Her footsteps were heavy as she went upstairs. No matter who was responsible or the reasons for such a brutal attack, the family would never be the same again.
As she took the stairs to the first floor, Grace could see that this was a family home. An array of photos and family portraits throughout the years were visible with every step she took. On the galleried landing, a bookcase held a mixture of crime thrillers, cooking manuals and Harry Potter books. There was a large teddy bear with a baseball cap sitting in a battered leather armchair next to it.
Her heart leapt into her mouth and she struggled to contain her emotions. There was never going to be a normal family home next door ever again.
She knocked on a door and waited. With no answer, she looked inside, but the bedroom was empty. She tried the next one to find a bathroom. At the third attempt, a teenager came to the door. He was taller than her, with dark gelled spiky hair and a wobble to his bottom lip.
‘Hi, Oliver,’ she said. ‘I’m DS Grace Allendale. Could I come in for a moment?’
‘I didn’t see anything.’ He stepped aside for her. ‘I didn’t hear anything either. I was listening to my music. He kept on telling me it was too loud but I … I …’ He broke down in tears, rushing into her arms.
Taken aback for a second, she froze. Then she wrapped him in her embrace, letting him grieve. These were going to be dark days for him. A death in the family was always hard. A murder was even worse. But this? This would be beyond comprehension.
Once he was ready to talk, they sat down on the bed.
‘You have a brother and a sister, I was told?’ She started with a simple question.
He nodded before sniffing loudly. ‘James and Sarah.’
‘Neither live at home now?’
‘No, they’re older than me. Both married. They’ll be here soon.’
‘Did you get on well with your dad?’ she asked gently, noting that she’d want to check out his bedroom when she went back next door. Sometimes there would be the odd family memory Blu-Tacked around a mirror or propped up against a stack of books. It often gave her an insight into relationships and home life.
Oliver didn’t speak for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I didn’t see him that much. He works long hours; most evenings and at the weekends he’s playing golf or out for a drink.’
‘Does your mum go with him?’ Grace realised he was talking about his father in the present tense. ‘For a drink?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘So did you know any of his friends?’
‘Not very well.’ He shook his head. ‘I missed having him around, though. He was brilliant at Grand Theft Auto.’
Grace smiled. They chatted for a few minutes and it became clear he couldn’t tell her anything else, so she left him and went back downstairs.
She found Nick outside in the driveway of next door, lights blazing behind him as more forensic officers arrived.
‘Any luck?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Poor kid is in shock. He doesn’t want to come back to the house.’
Nick screwed up his face. ‘Well, want to know where our victim was before he came home?’
Grace’s chin rose. ‘Go on.’
‘He’d just done a workout at Steele’s Gym.’
TWENTY-TWO
SUNDAY – DAY 6
The murder of Dale Chapman had warranted another late night. Grace had gone to bed at one thirty a.m. and was back in the station at half past seven. During the early hours, the Chapmans’ house had been the scene of a full-scale search. Sam had gone straight over to the crime scene to view their security camera footage before sending over anything she thought valuable. Mrs Chapman and Oliver had remained out of the property until it had been swept for forensics.
The image of Chapman had looked familiar to Grace. She’d googled him that morning, read a few articles about his business and had a look around his website but come to the conclusion that she didn’t know him.
Everyone assembled in the briefing room at half past eight. Even more officers had come on board. Now there were two murders they were looking to link, the DCI came into the meeting.
‘Although the MOs are different, we’re connecting this to Operation Wedgwood.’ Jenny pointed to a photo on the whiteboard behind her. ‘Victim number two. Dale Chapman. Aged forty-nine. Married with three children. Blunt force trauma to the head and face, resulting in death. And a single stab wound to the chest. We’re obviously keeping an open mind right now, but Grace’s theory of them both being stabbed in the heart as a symbol is a good one to follow up on.’
‘Chapman lived on a quiet avenue, but all the gardens and driveways were open-plan,’ Nick went on. ‘It seems anyone can wander in off the road without too much trouble, although there could be more eyes on them, I suppose. A lot of the properties nearby have their own security cameras, so we’ll be checking those today. On further inspection, we found one of the security lights broken. According to Mrs Chapman, she had no idea it was out.’
‘The last place he visited was Steele’s Gym,’ Alex stated. ‘He left there at 20.30 and was home twenty minutes later.’
Grace looked at the table briefly, hoping she wasn’t blushing at the mention.
‘Do you think someone is sending a message?’ asked PC Mick Higgins, who had been drafted in to help them again.
‘I don’t know,’ Alex said. ‘It could be to the Steele family. Or the Parkers. What about the Woodmans?’
‘The Woodmans?’ Grace queried, wondering why she hadn’t heard the name until now.
‘The Woodmans are another of our crime families,’ Perry enlightened her. ‘Turf wars when they step out of line or go on each other’s patches. Although they’re not as big a name on the streets as the Steeles.’
‘Well, Josh Parker I can understand,’ Grace said, ‘but what would the connection be to Dale Chapman? Have we any intel on him being connected to them in any way?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Nothing. He’s a well-respected businessman. Won some big local award last year. He’s doing fine on all accounts. Where are we on forensics for Josh Parker?’
‘Tests show there was no DNA found anywhere belonging to anyone else and so far we have nothing on any cameras,’ Grace told everyone. ‘Along with Sam, the CCTV analyst has gone through everything but there is nothing linking any cars to the gym for several hours. He is still analysing it though, and will let us know once he’s done as much as he can.’
‘If our suspect used a car, it’s likely it can be pinpointed on the main road after the time of the murder,’ Alex added. ‘But we’d need a lead on the make, model or registration number. And we don’t have any of those yet.’
‘We’re also going through his phone and financial records,’ Perry added. ‘Social media too. Nothing is obvious at the moment.’
Back at her desk, sustenance had arrived. Apparently, a hot breakfast was a Sunday morning ritual if they were working on a case. Usually there was no time to stop for food, so a meal first thing was the order of the day – literally.
Grace tucked into her bacon and cheese oatcakes with relish. Oatcakes in some places meant oat biscuits; nothing so fancy, but the Staffordshire Oatcake was a local delicacy, its recipe kept secret throughout the years. They were known all over the world, shipped out to faraway places too. In her opinion, they were best served hot, rolled up with cooked bacon and cheese, sausage and egg amongst other things inside it.
‘Heavenly,’ Grace said aloud. ‘It’s almost worth coming back to Stoke for,’ she joked.
While she ate, Grace searched the computer database for what she could find out about the Woodmans. There were two brothers, both in their early fifties. Malcolm and Len had families of their own now, five boys and two girls between them ranging from early to late twenties. Two of the boys were in prison for GBH, and one had come out a short time ago and was now on probation. Grace wondered if this had anything to do with the recent attacks. Was someone trying to muscle in and warn the Steeles about something?
