Killing Time
Page 1
KILLING TIME
Mark Roberts
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About this Book
About the Author
Table of Contents
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About Killing Time
A young Czech girl, missing for eight days, is found abandoned in a deserted playground. She is so traumatised she cannot speak.
DCI Eve Clay is on her way to try and interview the victim, when another case is called in. Two Polish migrant workers have been found dead in their burnt out flat. But this is no normal house fire. The men’s bodies were set alight, after the killer had clinically removed both of their hearts.
Then reports come in that the Czech girl’s mother has disappeared.
Then Clay and her team receive an anonymous call. Somone else will die before the day ends.
Contents
Welcome Page
About Killing Time
Dedication
Prologue
Day One: Thursday, 1st December 2020
Chapter 1: 8.51 am
Chapter 2: 9.14 am
Chapter 3: 9.15 am
Chapter 4: 9.20 am
Chapter 5: 9.20 am
Chapter 6: 9.21 am
Chapter 7: 10.05 am
Chapter 8: 10.06 am
Chapter 9: 10.10 am
Chapter 10: 10.15 am
Chapter 11: 10.28 am
Chapter 12: 10.35 am
Chapter 13: 10.45 am
Chapter 14: 11.06 am
Chapter 15: 11.06 am
Chapter 16: 11.28 am
Chapter 17: 11.28 am
Chapter 18: 11.28 am
Chapter 19: 11.29 pm
Chapter 20: 11.30 am
Chapter 21: 11.35 am
Chapter 22: 11.55 am
Chapter 23: 12.05 pm
Chapter 24: 12.45 am
Chapter 25: 1.30 pm
Chapter 26: 1.45 pm
Chapter 27: 1.45 pm
Chapter 28: 3.20 pm
Chapter 29: 4.15 pm
Chapter 30: 5.15 pm
Chapter 31: 5.30 pm
Chapter 32: 8.30 pm
Chapter 33: 8.30 pm
Day Two: Friday, 2nd December 2020
Chapter 34: 7.15 am
Chapter 35: 10.15 am
Chapter 36: 10.15 am
Chapter 37: 12.03 pm
Chapter 38: 12.30 pm
Chapter 39: 12.30 pm
Chapter 40: 1.01 pm
Chapter 41: 2.15 pm
Chapter 42: 2.15 pm
Chapter 43: 2.35 pm
Chapter 44: 2.45 pm
Chapter 45: 2.45 pm
Chapter 46: 2.48 pm
Chapter 47: 3.15 pm
Chapter 48: 3.18 pm
Chapter 49: 3.38 pm
Chapter 50: 6.00 pm
Chapter 51: 6.03 pm
Chapter 52: 6.15 pm
Chapter 53: 6.32 pm
Chapter 54: 6.40 pm
Chapter 55: 6.45 pm
Chapter 56: 7.02 pm
Chapter 57: 7.25 pm
Chapter 58: 7.53 pm
Chapter 59: 8.01 pm
Chapter 60: 8.08 pm
Chapter 61: 8.45 pm
Chapter 62: 8.55 pm
Chapter 63: 9.05 pm
Chapter 64: 9.25 pm
Chapter 65: 9.25 pm
Chapter 66: 10.15 pm
Chapter 67: 11.59 pm
Chapter 68: 11.59 pm
Day Three: Wednesday, 3rd December
Chapter 69: 00.25 am
Chapter 70: 00.45 am
Chapter 71: 00.50 am
Chapter 72: 00.50 am
Chapter 73: 1.01 am
Chapter 74: 1.34 am
Chapter 75: 1.36 am
Chapter 76: 1.38 am
Chapter 77: 1.43 am
Chapter 78: 5.59 am
Chapter 79: 8.00 am
Chapter 80: 8.50 am
Chapter 81: 9.03 am
Chapter 82: 9.15 am
Chapter 83: 9.25 am
Chapter 84: 9.45 am
Chapter 85: 10.15 am
Chapter 86: 10.18 am
Chapter 87: 10.18 am
Chapter 88: 10.30 am
Chapter 89: 10.45 am
Chapter 90: 11.03 am
Chapter 91: 11.11 am
Chapter 92: 11.36 am
Chapter 93: 11.35 am
Chapter 94: 12.01 pm
Chapter 95: 1.10 pm
Chapter 96: 1.30 pm
Chapter 97: 2.33 pm
Chapter 98: 2.59 pm
Chapter 99: 3.08 pm
Chapter 100: 4.01 pm
Chapter 101: 4.34 pm
Chapter 102: 4.38 pm
Chapter 103: 5.32 pm
Chapter 104: 6.13 pm
Chapter 105: 6.32 pm
Chapter 106: 6.35 pm
Chapter 107: 6.31 pm
Chapter 108: 6.35 pm
Chapter 109: 6.59 pm
Chapter 110: 7.03 am
Chapter 111: 7.13 pm
Chapter 112: 7.23 pm
Chapter 113: 7.39 pm
Chapter 114: 7.51 pm
Chapter 115: 8.59 pm
Chapter 116: 9.28 pm
Chapter 117: 9.48 pm
Chapter 118: 10.03 pm
Chapter 119: 11.47 pm
Day Four: Thursday, 4th December
Chapter 120: 1.01 am
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About Mark Roberts
About the Eve Clay Series
An Invitation from the Publisher
Copyright
For Edna
who gave me the two greatest gifts ever
Prologue
‘What’s going on, Sister Ruth?’ asked Eve Clay, at the door of Mrs Tripp’s office. Behind the door, unfamiliar adult voices mingled with Mrs Tripp’s and there was much laughter, but it sounded forced and unreal to Eve’s ears.
‘You know what it’s like here in St Michael’s, Eve.’ Sister Ruth’s voice dropped to soft and confidential and she stooped to Eve’s eye line. ‘All kinds of rumours and stories are flying round the home, and if it’s not the kids spreading them, it’s the adults.’
‘Who’s in there with Mrs Tripp?’ Eve recalled the flash BMW parked outside St Michael’s Catholic Care Home for Children, and she could smell the smoke from an expensive cigar behind the door.
‘People who wish to meet you.’
‘Come in with me, Sister?’
‘I can’t go in with you. Mrs Tripp refused me point blank. But I’ll be with you...’ she kissed Eve on her head ‘...in there. Listen to me, Eve. I’ve known you on and off since you were three, when we were both in St Claire’s. Whatever gets said in there, you must swear to me on Sister Philomena’s memory you’ll stick to your guns and only say Yes if it’s what you really want. Don’t say Yes to anything you don’t want.’
‘I swear on Sister Philomena’s memory, I won’t say Yes to anything I don’t want.’
Sister Ruth wrapped her arms around Eve and gave her the fiercest hug she could remember.
‘You’re crying, Sister Ruth. Why are you crying?’
‘I’m not crying, Eve. I’ve got a cold. Get in there and imagine me and Sister Philomena standing right beside you.’
Eve knocked on the door and the voices in Mrs Tripp’s office fell silent.
‘Come in!’ said Mrs Tripp, her normally tart voice infused with saccharine.
Eve opened the door and, stepping inside, looked through a light haze of smoke at Mrs Tripp and three adults she had never seen before. Mrs Tripp sat on a hard-backed chair. Facing her was a woman in between two men. All eyes were on Eve.
Mrs Tripp patted the empty chair beside her. ‘Eve, come and sit next to me, sweetheart.’
Eve picked up the chair next to Mrs Tripp and moved it away from the boss of the children’s home and positioned it at an angle slightly away from the adults.
She weighed up the strangers. The elegant, well-dressed blonde in her forties sat between two men in suits: a fat bald man to her left, smoking a cigar, and a sombre bloke who looked like he had never laughed in his fifty-odd years.
‘I see you support Everton, Eve,’ said the blonde woman.
She looked down at her Everton top and said, ‘Nil satis nisi optimum.’ A ripple of approval drifted across the visitors. ‘It’s Everton’s motto and it happens to be totally true. Nothing but the best will do.’
The blonde woman and the fat bloke laughed, and even sober-sides cracked the briefest smile.
Eve turned her attention to Mrs Tripp. ‘It seems these people know who I am, but I don’t know who they are. Isn’t it time you made with a few introductions?’
Mrs Tripp laughed and said, ‘You’re incorrigible, aren’t you, Eve?’ There was a sudden gear change in her voice as she said, ‘This lady is Amanda Ryan. And the gentleman to her left is Mr Dove... and to the right is Mr Mann.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Tripp,’ said Amanda Ryan. ‘Eve, how old are you?’
‘Nine. How old are you, Amanda?’
‘How long have you been in St Michael’s Catholic Care Home for Children?’
‘I came here in October ‘84 when I was six.’
‘And before that?’
‘I lived in St Claire’s with Sister Philomena. And Sister Ruth. Sister Ruth was her friend and helper.’
‘So you’ve always lived in institutions?’
‘No. Sister Philomena didn’t give birth to me, but she was better than a mother to me until the day she died. It’s unfair to her memory to say I was institutionalised when I was with her. I’m not having that, Amanda. Sorry.’
Fat Mr Dove puffed on his cigar, nodded and looked impressed.
‘Eve,’ said Amanda. ‘I didn’t mean to disrespect Sister Philomena’s memory. I’m sorry.’
‘Apology accepted, Amanda. So why are you here? And why do you want to talk to me?’
‘I want to show you something.’
As Mr Mann handed Eve a brown A4 envelope, he said, ‘Open it!’
Eve took out a set of colour photographs. The top picture was of the back of a large detached house with a tennis court and an outdoor swimming pool. She slid this to the bottom of the pile and looked at the next photograph, of a large girl’s bedroom with a TV, Hi-Fi and a wardrobe big enough for dozens of outfits. The next picture was of a huge bathroom with a jacuzzi and a sauna room.
Eve put the three pictures back in the envelope along with the ones she didn’t look at. ‘Is that your house, Amanda?’ She handed the envelope to Mrs Tripp.
‘Yes. Let me explain who we are. Mr Mann is my lawyer and Mr Dove is a social worker who specialises in caring for families, and children in particular.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘Because I want to adopt you, Eve.’
Eve felt as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of her lungs and her skeleton turned to jelly. By a huge effort of will, she caught her breath and straightened up as best she could.
‘You want to adopt me? Why?’
Mr Mann picked up his briefcase and took out a set of papers and a fountain pen.
Amanda smiled. ‘I’m heavily involved in working for children’s charities across Merseyside and the northwest of England. Your name started cropping up around the time you moved from St Claire’s to St Michael’s. You are a very well-known and much discussed young lady. I took a huge interest in you and spent time and money finding out all about you. Your spirit and feistiness are legendary. Your spirit walked into the room ahead of you. And I like that. Mr Mann?’
He cleared his throat.
‘We didn’t just rely on hearsay,’ said Mr Mann. ‘Miss Ryan did extensive research into finding out what sort of a child you really are. She spoke to many people and they all had a variety of positive things to say about you. But one word, one word, came up in every interview. Stubborn. My client, Miss Ryan, has a lot invested emotionally in this project. We have an offer to make to you...’
Eve turned to Mrs Tripp. ‘What did I say to you, when I was six, when I first came into this office in October 1984?’
‘Hear them out, Eve!’ She smiled but her teeth were clamped.
‘The paperwork is in place and finalised,’ said Mr Mann. ‘Miss Ryan wants to adopt you.’
Eve looked directly at Amanda Ryan.
‘But the offer comes with a condition,’ continued Mr Mann.
‘Amanda, it doesn’t matter what people say I am. Why didn’t you take me out for a day? Get to know me for yourself?’
‘I have every confidence that this can be a successful adoption because...’
‘Have you got kids of your own?’
‘No.’
‘A husband?’
‘No.’
‘Too much information, Amanda,’ said Mr Mann.
‘Are we related by blood?’
‘You could have an incredible life with Amanda, Eve,’ piped up Mrs Tripp.
‘Are we related by blood, Amanda? Yes or no?’
‘No.’
Eve got to her feet and turned to Mrs Tripp. ‘I told you when I was six years old, the first time I was in your office – you bring me my birth mother or father to take me away or I’m staying in care until I’m eighteen. Amanda is not my birth mother, is she? Amanda is not my blood relative, is she?’
The air was thick with unpleasant silence and when Eve looked at Amanda she was crying silently. Eve marched to Mrs Tripp’s desk, snatched up a handful of tissues from a box and gave them to Amanda. She stood facing the four adults with her arms folded.
‘If you sign the contract,’ said Mr Mann, ‘within a matter of days, you will be living with Amanda as her daughter. When you are eighteen, you will come in to a vast amount of money. The world will be yours, Eve,’ Mr Mann insisted. ‘My client will make a large donation every year to St Michael’s...’
Eve glowered at Mrs Tripp. ‘Will she now?’
‘For the benefit of all the children, all your friends, we’re talking big holidays, season tickets for Everton and Liverpool...’
‘You’re talking nonsense, Mr Mann, or you might as well be...’
‘Eve, if you sign,’ said Amanda, through her tears, ‘I can make you the happiest girl in the world and you can make me the happiest woman.’
‘Amanda, let’s clear the room and we can have a heart-to-heart, you and me, about what’s going on here. It’s... bizarre.’
Amanda opened her mouth to speak but Mr Mann put his hand on her arm.
‘I can’t... until you sign. If you refuse, Eve,’ said Amanda, ‘I’ll walk through that door and you’ll never hear from me or see me again. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime offer! Do you know, I am friends with a lot of Everton players’ wives and girlfriends. I can get you to meet them.’
Eve scanned the serious faces around her, all eyes pinned on her. She counted to ten and said, ‘Give me the paper and pen, Mr Mann.’
‘This is a good decision, Eve,’ said Amanda. ‘You won’t regret it, I promise you, darling. I’ll get a box for you at Goodison Park, take you to all the away games.’
Eve took the papers to Mrs Tripp’s desk.
‘I need three signatures where I’ve pencilled in an X,’ said Mr Mann.
Eve wrote in her best handwriting against the three crosses.
‘Thank you, Eve,’ said Amanda. ‘Thank you, you won’t regret it.’
She handed the paperwork back to Mr Mann whose smiling face quickly fell to a place between puzzlement and anger as she stared him down.
‘Who in the name of God,’ asked Mr Fat Mann, ‘is Neville Southall?’
‘He’s Everton’s goalkeeper.’
�
�What’s going on?’ asked Amanda, as Eve walked to the door.
She stopped and turned. ‘I couldn’t live with you, Amanda. You might have all the tea in China but you’re downright strange. You think you can buy me like I was a puppy in a pet shop. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime offer? Well, no.’ Eve opened the door. ‘Nil satis nisi optimum!’
She slammed the door shut and, seeing Sister Ruth along the corridor, felt a huge wave of relief.
‘Amanda Ryan just tried to buy me.’
Behind Mrs Tripp’s door, voices were rising.
‘I didn’t know. I’ve heard so many things. If I’d been certain of what was coming, I’d have warned you.’
They walked towards the stairs, away from Mrs Tripp and her visitors.
‘I think I know what your answer was, Eve.’
‘Mrs Tripp isn’t getting rid of me that easily.’
As they walked down the stairs, Sister Ruth placed her hand on Eve’s shoulder.
‘I haven’t got a price and I never will have.’ She kissed the badge on her Everton shirt. ‘Nil satis nisi optimum. Nothing but the best will do.’
Day One
Thursday, 1st December 2020
1
8.51 am
‘Wishful thinking never turned maybe into a fact,’ said Detective Inspector Eve Clay, blood banging in her ears as her car bounced over another speed bump on Queens Drive.
‘The woman who found Marta said it was definitely her.’ Detective Sergeant Gina Riley’s voice rose from Clay’s hands-free iPhone on the dashboard.
‘It feels too good to be true. This is the eighth day the kid’s been missing. By the usual reckoning, Marta Ondřej should be dead and buried.’
Clay accelerated towards the railway bridge on Queens Drive.
‘Maybe, but the woman who put the call in to switchboard said it’s Marta, said she recognised her from the picture we plastered over the media and internet.’
Driving under the bridge, a train roared above Clay’s head. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator, rising from sixty to seventy miles per hour, weaving between two lines of traffic, one heading towards the schools close to Sefton Park and the other heading towards the north end of the city.
On the corner of Queens Drive and Allerton Road, she turned her siren on. In her head, Clay converted the last few minutes into a coherent sequence of events.