Liar Liar: Another gripping serial killer thriller from the bestselling author (DC Charlotte Stafford Series)

by Sarah Flint

  She stared at her own photograph, so young and enthusiastic to do the right thing, and thought back to the scene in the property office, as a wave of pure dread ran up her spine.

  Chapter 37

  ‘I don’t care what time it is on a Saturday evening, constable. You get your supervisor to find the keys and go and check the property store now. And I mean now.’ The DCI’s expression was thunderous. Paul was now driving, while Charlie and Hayley Boyle huddled in the rear, all three silently listening as he vented his anger on the recipient of each call. Charlie could see Hayley’s hands visibly shaking as she turned the crucifix round and round with her fingers.

  The surveillance teams were next.

  ‘Any more sightings of Subject 1, Walters?’ he shouted down the radio.

  ‘No, sir, nothing at present. We’ve got units situated at his home address and where he was last seen and others on mobile patrol at places where he’s been stopped in the past. Hopefully we’ll pick him up again at some point and I’ll come straight back to you.’

  ‘Hopefully is not good enough!’ DCI O’Connor bellowed, abruptly finishing the transmission.

  ‘Any sightings of subject 2, Sangster,’ he called up the other team.

  ‘Not yet, sir,’ the sergeant sounded sheepish. ‘Or at least not on foot. We believe she is still within the hairdressers or bar, but there is vehicular access to a small, fenced-off car park at the rear and there have been some cars coming and going. We’ve got an OP fairly close to the rear and have been checking the vehicles as they leave as best we can. So far we haven’t seen any females dressed in a red shirt in any of the vehicles.’

  ‘Are you telling me that your IDs are based on what colour shirt the occupants are wearing?!’

  ‘It’s all we have to go on, sir. We can’t get close enough to see them facially and some of the cars have tinted glass. It’s going to get even harder with the light starting to fade.’

  ‘So, you’re saying that if she happened to have changed her shirt, or put a jacket over the top, or is sitting behind tints, you might have missed her?’

  There was a long pause, during which time the DCI’s face turned crimson with rage.

  ‘We’re doing our best, sir. Checks are being run on every car that leaves and, so far, none are connected directly to her or any of her family members.’

  ‘That bloody woman knows everyone in the area. She probably knows everyone in the building. From what you say she could have disappeared in any one of the vehicles and she could be anywhere by now.’

  ‘Not all of them, sir. We can definitely discount some.’ The voice sounded desperate.

  ‘She only bloody well needs one!’ the DCI roared. He threw the radio down into the foot well in front of him and stared out of the side window at the changing landscape as it sped by. They were on their way to an address that Bet had tracked down for Brenda Leach, by contacting the 24-hour security officer at her office and getting the registration number of the vehicle, she was authorised to use. This information had furnished them with her usual car and its registered address.

  Bet had a way of separating the wheat from the chaff; the evidence from the inconsequential. She was invaluable in any crisis and was competent and composed, as was Hunter. They were certainly missing him and his calm authority now.

  Charlie picked up her phone and dialled his number once more, listening to the dialling tone as it rang out again. At least the phone was still switched on and that would make cell-siting possible. Ray Hooper was on to it already.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the DCI’s mobile ringtone. He pressed the speaker and a voice boomed out across the interior of the car.

  ‘There’s no trace of those two exhibits you asked for, in any of the boxes that are shown for the Troy Sangster case. I’ve checked through them thoroughly several times.’

  Hayley Boyle shrank down into her seat, burrowing even further into the upholstery than she had previously. Her voice was barely more than a whisper as she said the words that Charlie had feared more than anything since hearing her admission.

  ‘So the handgun and the ammunition are missing.’

  *

  Charlie’s mind was racing almost as fast as the car when Bet phoned.

  ‘Hi, Charlie,’ she started. ‘I thought you’d be interested in this background info I’ve found so far on Brenda Leach. She’s a very interesting character, all over the pages of Google. She’s been working for the IPCC since 2010, but before then she seems to have made quite a habit of getting herself involved in a variety of other institutions, including churches, prisons and psychiatric hospitals, both as a paid employee but also doing voluntary work.’

  ‘Go on,’ Charlie prompted, remembering Anna’s words about Ted Bundy – successful, academically astute, charismatic, charming… and excellent at spotting the weak and vulnerable.

  ‘Anyway, between 2004 and 2009 she worked at Bethlem Royal Hospital in Beckenham.’

  ‘Isn’t that where Samson Powell was sectioned after the boiling water incident with Lisa?’

  ‘Yes it is, and he would have been there at the same time.’

  ‘And Dennis Walters?’

  ‘I’m working on it. They could have met through Samson or Shirley Sangster, but it’s also quite possible he met Leach at one of the prisons at some point.’

  ‘Shit! If that is the link with Samson and she recruited him all these years later… how many others could she have lined up ready to use?’

  She thanked Bet and leant back in her seat, listening to DCI O’Connor updating Ray Hooper from DPS. They were running out of time fast.

  ‘As well as continuing to try to locate DI Hunter, we need up-to-date tracking on the mobile phone numbers I have for Brenda Leach, and still on Shirley Sangster please, guv,’ the DCI was saying. ‘And I need them ASAP. If we’re going on the premise that the punishment is designed to fit the crime, then now we know that the firearm is missing, it’s odds on that Hunter is the intended target.’

  ‘I’ll get my guys on to it straight away, Declan. It won’t take long. In the meantime, we have an IP address for the computer that was used to make contact with Jason Lloyd.’ Charlie pulled out a notebook. ‘There were three possibles but two come back to reputable, young women, if a little lonely, so we’ve ruled them out for the time being. Our priority has to be the third, which is an internet cafe.’ He read out the address which Charlie noted down.

  ‘I’ll phone Naz and Sabira in a second,’ she called out. ‘They’re nearby.’

  ‘Excellent. It’s going to be difficult, but my guys have got dates and times of when the computer was used for each contact with Jason Lloyd. Most of these cafes have CCTV and most will take the basic details of who is using them and for how long. So get a unit to view it and if you can match someone using the computer with the times and dates we have established, then bingo, you could have your new recruit, or the one you think is organising it, or both.’

  Charlie snapped her notebook shut. If only it were that easy.

  *

  The blue railings and dark brown brickwork of Heathrow police station were in sight as Hunter checked his watch. He’d been gone for over an hour while Naz and Sab got on with the process of booking their prisoner in, taking the chance to leave the claustrophobic atmosphere of the custody area in favour of views across the perimeter fence towards the runways and terminals of the UK’s largest airport. Both his work and personal mobiles had been ringing constantly; calls from the DCI and Paul coming through on his work mobile and calls from Mrs H and Charlie coming in on his personal one. Both had been switched to silent. He needed time out.

  He’d walked slowly, sipping on a coffee purchased from the nearby deli before standing for what seemed like hours watching the jumbos and double-decker airbuses thundering down the tarmac before lifting, as if by magic, gracefully into the air. All his life he had been in awe of aeroplanes; fascinated by their structure and the way five hundred tons of metal had the abi
lity to transform into the intricate machinery required to take millions of passengers across the world to their holiday destinations of choice. As a boy, he’d run out into his garden every afternoon to watch the sleek, streamlined contours of Concorde as it passed overhead, the roar of its supersonic engine sending a shudder of pure delight through his young body. He still couldn’t quite believe it was finally gone after watching footage of its last flight in 2003… until he’d stood on Westminster Bridge the following year, staring down at the wingless carcass encased inside the bowels of a barge, steaming slowly along the River Thames to be transferred to a larger vessel and taken to its final resting place in East Lothian, Scotland. Even now fourteen years on, he still missed the spectacle.

  He turned one last time to watch a Virgin Atlantic aeroplane soar into the air just above him, its bright red tail colour easily recognisable, and smiled for the first time in days. The hour spent watching the aircraft had done him good.

  As he neared the station, the weight shifted back on to his shoulders as his eyes alighted on the blue police lamp that graced the wall to the side of the entrance; the same old-fashioned style as was outside almost every police station in the Met. It too brought back memories of bygone years, thoughts of Dixon of Dock Green, Z-cars, The Sweeney, the era when the uniform was respected and no child would dare to be rude to a policeman.

  He took his work mobile from his pocket and set it back to ring, wondering how long it would take before the DCI was hassling him again. It was a shame they had fallen out… but no doubt they’d resume working relations when the issue was sorted, if it could be. As if on cue, his personal mobile started to vibrate in his trouser pocket. He sighed heavily. Why couldn’t they all leave him alone for just a few minutes? It was Charlie. He pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it around the phone, shoving it deep into his trouser pocket. The sound was switched off, now he wanted to dull even the vibration against his leg. He’d let her down badly and just hearing her voice would be enough to awaken the realisation that his time in the career he loved was coming to an end, while hers was just beginning. If only he could have his time all over; be her age again, in action on the streets, catching the criminals instead of being bogged down with bureaucracy.

  He pulled his warrant card out ready to show the civilian staff on the door and was just climbing the steps when he heard a call from behind.

  ‘Are you a police officer?’ a man shouted. ‘I need help.’

  He swung round, his warrant card held out towards the man as he noted immediately the shrunken cheeks and look of bewilderment in the man’s eyes.

  ‘Yes I am,’ he responded automatically, feeling the familiar adrenalin surge course through his body. It was what he’d always lived for. ‘What’s happened?’

  The man beckoned towards him and started to walk away. ‘It’s my brother. He’s threatening to kill himself. Please can you help me! Come quickly.’

  Hunter turned back towards the police station, his mind immediately racing through the risks. Common sense dictated it would be more sensible to go in and summon extra help from those who knew the area better… but by then it might be too late… and he could always use his phone to get more assistance if required. The man needed action, not inaction. He’d show the DCI he wasn’t a spent force.

  The man was a few steps further away now, the urgency in the waving of his hands cementing Hunter’s plan in his head. He was heading towards a dark-coloured Audi. Hunter pulled his work mobile out and started after the man, the burst of speed making him momentarily breathless. The man opened the rear door of the car and nodded towards him.

  ‘Quick, get in and I’ll take you to where my brother is.’ He left the door open, disappearing around the back of the car to the other side.

  Hunter took a deep breath and bent his head, climbing into the rear. As he pulled the door shut, the realisation that he had been a fool slammed forcefully into his head. The man was climbing into the rear seat next to him. He had a large knife and a set of metal handcuffs in his hand. Hunter turned to pull on the door handle, just as he heard the child-locks clunk into place. The phone in his hand started to ring. He stared down at it, not recognising the number that was showing, his confusion growing.

  There was a movement in the front of the car and he looked up to see a figure sitting in the driver’s seat holding a mobile to their ear. He watched the driver move the phone to one side and end the call. As the button was pressed, Hunter’s phone stopped ringing. The driver turned around and smiled, victory radiating out from cold, unblinking eyes.

  ‘Ah, Detective Inspector Hunter. How nice to see you. Let me introduce myself to you properly. My name is Ice; in case of emergency, as cold as, however you’d like to describe me. I think Samson may have inadvertently let you know my name a while ago. Not that he is of consequence any more. He failed in the task he was set. He thought he knew better than me, but no matter… my new man, sitting next to you there has even more reason to get acquainted with you than Samson did. You lot destroyed his life and he really, really hates police, don’t you?’

  The man nodded wordlessly.

  ‘Right, before we go any further. We’ll have your phone.’ The man next to him leant across, the knife extended towards his torso, and tore the phone from his hands.

  ‘We wouldn’t want you to escape the perfect punishment I’ve dreamed up for you now, would we?’

  Chapter 38

  Harmondsworth was a small, sleepless village, populated by nothing much more than a primary school, a short high street and a couple of pubs. Most of the inhabitants worked shifts at the airport and the few that didn’t felt as if they did, so caught up were they in the day-to-day roar of the aircraft and rumble of the freight deliveries that blighted their peace and quiet.

  Paul stopped at the beginning of the cul-de-sac in which Leach lived and switched the engine off. As the only person there not known to Brenda Leach, he would be the one going to reconnoitre her address. DCI O’Connor was in the process of arranging a hostage negotiator and armed back-up, should it look as if she was in. With a gun and ammunition adrift, they couldn’t afford to take any chances.

  Charlie climbed out of the car and joined Paul, clapping him on the back as he got himself prepared. He pulled some typed leaflets from his bag, offering his services as a gardener, carefully folded them and put them in his back pocket. She smiled; Paul always had a strategy prepared for just this sort of mission. A woman watering her flowers in a nearby garden stopped what she was doing and stared towards them curiously. They both started to walk along the path towards the target venue, about halfway down on the right, before Charlie peeled away and positioned herself opposite, watching her colleague from behind a garden wall.

  The address was a tired-looking ground-floor converted maisonette, not nearly as smartly turned-out as its occupant. Checks had shown that both the ground-and first-floor properties were currently rented, which accounted for its lack of overall well-being. The driveway was paved, with weeds pushing up between the slabs, and a couple of uneven steps led to an entrance porch. Parked on the drive, tucked up close to a peeling garage door, was the car that was registered to Brenda Leach. It too looked shabby, as if it had served a purpose and had now somehow been put out to pasture.

  The front door to the lower maisonette was closed but a porch door hung open on its hinges, kept from swinging by a large rock. The main window next to the porch was closed, with no lights on, making the interior look even gloomier in the fading light.

  Paul walked straight past the front of the house initially, glancing up at the windows surreptitiously as he did so. A few minutes later he walked back and along the driveway, straight to the front door where he stood listening, his ear down towards the letter box. Charlie watched him from behind the wall as he peered through the letter box, a leaflet ready should the door be opened. After a moment he stepped away, pausing to give her a thumbs-up before disappearing through a side gate and around to the rear. She
held her breath while he was out of sight, letting out a sigh of relief as he reappeared a few minutes later and walked back towards the car.

  ‘Doesn’t look as if there’s anyone in,’ he was updating the DCI as she joined him. ‘More to the point, it looks like she’s actually moved out. There are very few personal items that I can see, just old furniture and some cabinets with paperwork and other shit scattered about the floor.’

  ‘Dammit,’ Declan O’Connor shook his head. ‘Not just retiring then! Relocating! I’ll get in touch with the airport authorities and get them to check the flight manifests, see if she’s booked on any flights out. We’ll just have to hope we’re not too late.’

  ‘And we still don’t have a bloody clue where she… or Hunter is.’ Charlie chewed on her lip, trying to steady her mounting concern. ‘Although there might be something in there that could help us.’

  ‘But we need a warrant to enter and that takes time,’ Hayley Boyle chipped in, frowning. ‘Which is exactly what we don’t have.’

  *

  ‘The phones belonging to Hunter and Brenda Leach were cell-sited together half an hour ago, Declan,’ Ray Hooper’s voice was clear through the speakers.

  ‘Together? They’re definitely together!’ Charlie heard the message, swallowing hard. At last! Everything was falling into place, though it wasn’t the news she’d wanted confirmed.

  ‘But they’ve both been switched off now.’

  ‘Where was the last location you placed the two of them together?’ the DCI asked.

  ‘It was on the Bath Road, close to Heathrow police station.’

  ‘Which is also very close to where we are now,’ Charlie stared back towards Leach’s closed front door.

  ‘Paul, were there any rooms you couldn’t see into?’

  Paul looked curious. ‘Yes, the bathroom and toilet.’