Tear Drop: Serial Killer Thriller (Detective Elizabeth Ireland Crime Thriller Series Book 1)

by Joanne Clancy

***

  "Why does he want to kill me?" Darcy Timmons wailed. She hadn’t stopped crying since Elizabeth and Frank had arrived at the tiny house she called home.

  Because his heart is poisoned by evil, Elizabeth thought, but she didn't say that to Darcy. "We don't know if he wants to kill you," she said flatly instead. "But he mentioned you in his latest letter. We need to take precautions." However, there was no doubt in her mind that Darcy was the killer's next target.

  In his latest letter, the killer denied killing Ross Campbell. Elizabeth wasn't sure if she could maintain the pretence much longer. She had no idea what would happen next. One step at a time; that was how she kept going.

  They watched Darcy as she lit another cigarette from the end of the last one. Dark circles ringed her bloodshot eyes. The room stank of alcohol and stale bodies. Her hands shook as she raised the cigarette to her lips.

  "Even if the killer was referring to you, we're here now," Elizabeth said, trying to drag her thoughts away from the sight of the other woman's disintegration.

  "What can you do to help me?" Darcy asked bitterly.

  "We can protect you."

  "Like you protected the other women?"

  "We weren't able to find them in time," said Frank from the doorway, where he was listening to them talk. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. "This is different. You're here, we're here, and we won't go anywhere until we're certain that you're safe." He sounded as if he believed his words.

  "We've called the Armed Response Unit," Elizabeth tried to explain. "They'll be here any minute, and they'll stay with you until we've caught him."

  "How long will that be? I can't have the bloody Armed Response Unit with me while I'm working, can I?"

  "That depends on you," said Frank.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" When he didn't answer, she turned to Elizabeth. "Tell me."

  "Previously, the killer told us the names of the women he was going to kill. This time, the name fits you. It might be a coincidence, but if not, then it means that we have a strong chance of catching him this time."

  "You want me to sit here and wait for him, so that you can catch him in the act? You must think I'm as mad as he is."

  "I know you want to help us stop him. Too many women have suffered at his hands."

  Darcy stubbed out her cigarette and paced the room angrily. "It's up to me to catch this asshole, is that what you're saying? If I don't let him come and get me, it will be my fault if another woman dies, have I got that right?"

  "You can help end this," said Elizabeth. "I'm not saying it's easy."

  "Damn right it's not easy. I can't do it. I won’t do it. I'll hide somewhere until you find him."

  "You can't hide."

  "Don't tell me what I can and can't do! I can do whatever the hell I want. I'll pack my bags right now and leave if I feel like it."

  "Where will you go?"

  "London. I know some people there."

  "You didn't last a month in London the last time you went." Elizabeth knew that Darcy's nerves would never let her settle too far from the familiar. She watched her face as she remembered. The truth settled on her features like a shadow.

  "You can't spend the rest of your life wondering when this monster will find you. Every client, every car that slows up to the kerb, you'll think it's him coming for you. Every stranger who walks past and catches your eye, every man who walks behind you late at night, you'll wonder if it's him." Elizabeth glanced at Frank. He nodded encouragement. "What will you do in London, anyway? Maybe he'll follow you there. We can't protect you if you leave the country, Darcy, no one can."

  Elizabeth watched the last trace of fight leave her eyes. She felt guilty about playing to her fears, but she didn't have a choice. She couldn't risk failure by sparing her feelings.

  "What do you want me to do?" Darcy asked.

  "The Armed Response Unit will be here shortly. Everything will be kept low-key. They'll arrive in an unmarked car and they'll stay here with you. Others will be stationed outside the house. No one will know they're here. If the killer comes here to find you, we'll catch him. Just tell people that you're going away for a few days."

  "My boyfriend will be around."

  "He can look after himself for once. It might do him some good. If there's anything that you want, you can ask us."

  "There is something: two things, actually."

  "Tell me."

  "I need some coke. I'm not staying here without it." She glanced at Frank defiantly.

  "It's illegal," Frank replied. "I can't sanction it, but if you need to go out later, no one will search your bags when you return."

  "Anything else?" Elizabeth asked.

  "I want you to stay with me."

  "Me?"

  "I don't know any of these people. Please, Elizabeth. This situation is bad enough without being here alone. I want someone here that I know and trust."

  "Are you okay with that, Chief Superintendent?" Elizabeth asked.

  She could see in his eyes that he'd prefer she wasn't there if the killer came calling.

  "I won't do it otherwise," Darcy said, sensing his reluctance.

  "It's up to you," Frank said.

  "Fine, I'll stay, but only at night. I have to work during the day."

  "It's the night that scares me most."

  Twenty minutes later, a car pulled up outside. A man wearing jeans and a baggy coat got out. He carried a parcel as if he was making a delivery. He rang the doorbell.

  "That's the Armed Response Unit," said Frank. "Answer the door, and try to act normal."

  Darcy got to her feet and went to the door.

  "Hi, Joe," said Frank when the new arrival walked in. "Thanks for getting here so fast."

  "I wouldn't miss it.'' Joe Sullivan was only thirty years old, but already one of the force's most experienced Armed Response officers.

  "Niall Black is in the car, other officers will be moving into position around the house during the next few hours. There'll be fifteen of us stationed in the vicinity at any one time. No one will get past us."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "Aren't you supposed to be at the team meeting?" Holland asked, as he bumped into Elizabeth in the Station's car park.

  "I was about to ask you the same question, Sergeant."

  "I've been chasing leads."

  "Would you care to share your updates with me?"

  "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm. I tracked down the courier firm who delivered the letter to the Chief's house this morning. They weren't much help. The chap on duty last night claims he can't recall who left the envelope to be delivered."

  "Another dead end?"

  "Not quite," Holland replied. "They have CCTV."

  Elizabeth's face lit up. "We'll be able to see who dropped off the letter."

  "Exactly." He grinned.

  "It's too easy. He's not stupid enough to be caught on CCTV,'' said Elizabeth.

  "We can't afford not to check. You never know; he might have finally slipped up."

  ***

  "Is everything okay?" Holland asked, breaking the silence that had descended as they drove towards the courier firm on the other side of the city.

  "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "You haven't said two words since we set out."

  "I didn't get much sleep last night," she replied.

  "Even the killer sleeps."

  "Of course he does. He has everything mapped out. He knows where it will end." She glanced at the scaffolding that laced the sky, shutting them in. "I bumped into Brendan Mahon yesterday."

  "Oh?"

  "He claims he had nothing to do with the murders."

  "Do you believe him?"

  "It doesn't matter what I believe."

  "It matters to Brendan." He waited for her to continue. "Did he mention anything that he didn't tell the Chief?"

  "No. Actually, he spoke about you. I didn’t know that you two were friends."
<
br />   "I wouldn't say we were friends. I've seen him around the pubs, that's all. We had a few drinks together when I was in Serious Crime."

  "You didn't get on?"

  "He wanted to use me for information. That guy sees everyone as a potential source. He never stops thinking about his next story."

  "Have you ever given him a story?"

  "Nothing major. I threw him some crumbs a few times." He gave her a sidelong glance. "I hope you don't think I gave him any information on this investigation."

  Elizabeth shrugged. "I just wanted to know if you were friends."

  "Now you know."

  "He mentioned something else," she continued. "He said you told him how Orla Delaney died before Kennedy did the autopsy."

  "It looks like good old Brendan is trying to shift some suspicion on to me." He laughed wryly.

  "They're just questions. I didn't say that I suspect you of anything."

  "There's no such thing as "just questions"." He braked suddenly at a red traffic light and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. "If you must know, Brendan called your mobile at the scene of Orla Delaney's murder, not long after you left to meet Professor Farrell. Remember you left it in my car? I answered it. Brendan asked me how she died. I told him."

  "How did you know how she died?"

  "Kennedy told me."

  "Before he'd done an autopsy? That's not like him." She tried to push the twinge of paranoia to the back of her mind. "I needed to ask, that's all."

  He shook his head. "I can't believe you let Brendan get to you, Brendan Mahon, of all people."

  ***

  A neon sign flashed above the head of the sullen man behind the counter at the courier firm. "I suppose you're here for last night's CCTV footage," he said.

  "Correct," said Holland.

  He knelt down and rummaged under the counter. "There you go. That's everything up to midnight last night. The entry for the letter you mentioned is on that list, marked for delivery this morning. Whoever brought it here should be on the tape."

  "Is there somewhere we can watch it?" asked Holland.

  "There's a machine in the office." They followed him through to a small room where a kettle sat on a narrow counter beside some mugs that needed a good scrub. "Will you be long?"

  "We'll be as fast as we can."

  "Okay. I'll be out the front if you need me."

  Holland pressed the play button on the DVD player as soon as the door closed behind him. The grainy image showed the view from a camera above the door looking down the street. A blonde-haired woman with a hat covering her face stopped as she reached the door. The time at the bottom of the screen said 22:15.

  Elizabeth held her breath. This could be it.

  "I'll fast forward," said Holland. “I'll pause when someone appears." A moment later, the woman jumped out of shot, and another figure took her place. Disconnected people came and went too fast as everything sped up. The quality of the tape was poor; even close up, the faces were indistinct.

  "Do you recognise anyone?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Not yet."

  The tape sped on.

  "Stop!" Elizabeth cried.

  "What is it?"

  "Rewind. I'll tell you when to stop." The tall figure of a man with thick, white hair walked backwards in time into sight. She waited until his face was in view. "Stop."

  "It can't be," said Holland, looking at her in shock.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  "Harold!" yelled Elizabeth.

  Harold Preston was deep in conversation with a colleague as they crossed the university's courtyard. He stopped and turned, unable to hide his irritation. "Good afternoon, Sergeant Holland."

  "No greeting for me?" Elizabeth asked.

  He shrugged.

  "We need to talk."

  "Elizabeth, I have made it clear that I want nothing more to do with this case. I've given you a profile, that's enough. I have better things to do with my time."

  "Things like going to a courier firm late at night?"

  "How did you..." He stopped. "I don't want to know, but it’s none of your bloody business what I was doing last night or any other night for that matter. Now, if you'll excuse me."

  "Preston, I don't give a damn what you have planned. We need to talk."

  "Fine. The sooner we get this over with the better."

  "The killer sent a letter to Frank's house. He sent it last night around the same time that you entered the courier firm. Holland and I saw you on their CCTV."

  Preston stood quietly for a moment, digesting her words. "Did the letter name the victim?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he explain why he killed Campbell?"

  "He said he didn't kill him."

  "Interesting." He didn't bother going through the usual pantomime of surprise, disbelief and acceptance. "I got a call from the university switchboard last night. You can check the logs. Apparently, there was a package for me to be collected at a courier firm. The caller didn't want to speak with me directly. He said I could pick it up from the courier firm any time that evening."

  "Why did you go?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Of course I went. It could have been something important."

  "Was there a package for you?"

  "The courier firm didn't have a clue what I was talking about. It was a prank call. End of story."

  "Didn't you wonder who made the call?" asked Holland.

  "It could have been anyone. I assumed it was one of my students."

  "Can you recall seeing anyone suspicious at the courier firm?"

  "No, sorry, Sergeant, I didn't notice any serial killers hovering in the area."

  "He sent the letter through the courier."

  "He made sure that a letter was sent but it doesn't necessarily mean that he sent it. He could have paid a random stranger to deliver it for him. He didn't have to go near the place. Have you traced anyone else on the tape?"

  "Not yet."

  "The sooner you start the better. According to the first letter, you don't have much time left."

  "Why are you so sure that he isn't on the tape? Your profile said that he'd engage in risky behaviour."

  "There's risky and there's stupid. It's a game to him. Maybe he wants to be caught, but he'll make you work for it."

  "Is that what you'd do?" Elizabeth asked.

  "You're too clever not to see what's really going on here. You don't suspect me."

  "Don't I?"

  "The killer is trying to draw me back into the game. One phone call and suddenly I'm a suspect, just like Brendan Mahon. He's playing us all off against each other. He's trying to make you look one way while the real action is going on elsewhere."

  Chapter Thirty

  "You can drop me off at my apartment," said Elizabeth. "I need to pick up some things before I head to Darcy's place."

  "You mean you don't want to spend the rest of the afternoon tracking down the people on the CCTV?" Holland asked.

  "No, I think I'll pass on that treat." She sighed. "See you in the morning."

  She watched him drive away before she took the lift up to the penthouse. It was good to be home, even briefly. She made a coffee and gathered what she needed. She was just about to leave when she spotted one of Ken Williams' profiling books lying on the couch. "Where the hell are you?" she said aloud. Suddenly, she remembered a conversation they'd had years ago, when he drunkenly told her that he sometimes booked himself into hotels under the names of Australian prime ministers. She dropped her bag, wondering if he still did it. It was worth a try.

  She started calling the five-star hotels near the city; Williams never deprived himself. On the second hotel, she found him. Two nights earlier, a man by the name of Tony Abbott had booked into The Hayfield Manor, a boutique, five-star hotel that was only a three-minute walk from the university.

  ***

  Tony Abbott was in his room, according to the receptionist. His room was at the back of the hotel, overlooking the gardens. All Elizabeth h
ad to do was take a seat and wait. She knew he'd come.

  "Elizabeth." Tony Abbott aka Ken Williams sat heavily at the other end of the bench, letting the silence hang between them for a moment. "I was going to call you," he said at last.

  "Lucky for me I wasn't holding my breath." She turned to face him. He watched her, trying to assess if she was in a dangerous mood. He shivered as the cold wind whipped at him. "I spoke with my secretary." He smiled nervously. "I knew you'd figured out that I was still here in Cork."

  "I could have done with your help over the past few days."

  "I had to let you think I was returning to London, otherwise you would have asked too many questions that I wasn't in a position to answer. I needed time."

  "Time for what exactly?"

  "I needed to check some details. I needed answers. If nothing came of my trip, you would never have known."

  "There's nowhere to hide in a small place like Cork City."

  "I realise that now."

  "Tell me, did you find what you were looking for?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "We're running out of time, so if you have any ideas about this case, you need to start sharing."

  "Let's take a walk. I'll grab my coat."

  "You'll be fine without your coat." She started walking. Reluctantly, he followed her.

  "I'll get pneumonia." He shivered as he fell into step beside her.

  "Stop whining. Walking will keep you warm."

  "I was looking into Preston," he said eventually.

  "What does this case have to do with him?"

  "I tried calling him this morning to discuss the profile, but he wasn't interested."

  "He's stubborn, that's all."

  "I'm not saying that he’s the killer; even thinking it frightens me. I'm saying that you should be careful."

  "Why?"

  "I spoke to him a few months ago, when he first arrived in Cork, and he said he'd show you that he wasn't such a loser. I assumed he meant he'd make something of his life here, but now I don't know what he meant. He's acting oddly. Something is seriously bothering him."

  "Why didn't you say something the other night at dinner?"