by Joy Ellis
‘That’s possible, I suppose.’ Nikki drank the last of her coffee and stared into the empty cup. She was haunted by the picture of Helen, naked and vulnerable on that table, knowing she was going to die, and being completely helpless. She groaned. ‘That poor woman.’
Rory placed his hand gently over hers. ‘Just get the person who did this, and stop it happening again.’
‘Again?’ Nikki looked at her friend. ‘Surely this is a one-off? Someone with a personal grievance against Helen?’
‘I don’t think you can you afford to think like that. I’ve only ever had one face-to-face encounter with a serial killer, and I pray it’s the only one I ever have. But I remember how it escalated. Our killer started with one planned death, but he could have really enjoyed creating his little masterpiece. Who’s to say he’s not going to take it up as a hobby?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Joseph put his head around Nikki’s door. ‘I’ve got news.’
‘Me too, and mine isn’t good,’ Nikki growled.
‘Ditto. Who goes first?’
Nikki puffed out her cheeks, ‘You. Let’s get it over with.’
Joseph told her what Mickey had said.
Nikki rested her head in her hands. ‘So, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, along comes a turf war on the Carborough!’
‘But not tonight. Mickey promised to square it with the Leonard family, and I believe he will.’
‘I agree, but if he starts something, they won’t be able to say, ‘Oh sorry, Stephen, this will have to wait until tomorrow, we have an amnesty with the police for a candlelit vigil.’
‘I know, I know. Cox will undoubtedly have heard about this fiasco — and what better time to do something vicious. We have every available officer tied up tonight, and he’ll know it.’ Joseph let out a sigh. ‘I did tell you it wasn’t good news . . . And yours?’
Nikki recounted what Rory had said. ‘I cannot believe that poor Helen was aware of all those terrible things that were happening to her. She must have died terrified out of her wits.’
Joseph closed his eyes. He looked to Nikki as if he were praying. After a moment or two she realised he was. She felt envious. Nikki Galena trusted nothing that wasn’t based in empirical fact. But right now she would have liked something other than Butterworth’s Police Law to believe in.
‘And I had a call from Eve.’
Joseph opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Great! How is she?’
‘Mysterious. She wants me to go over for dinner so that she can talk to me about something.’
‘You’ll go?’
Nikki nodded. ‘I’ll go. I said I’d ring her tomorrow, after this vigil is over. And she invited you as well.’
‘Kind of her. Please say I appreciate it, but—’
‘I know. I told her you’d most likely take a rain check. I know you pretty well, don’t I, Joseph Easter?’
He raised his hands. ‘I guess you do.’ He looked at his watch. ‘But right now, shouldn’t we be getting to grips with Oliver Kirton?’
She nodded. ‘Will you come with me this time? As back-up?’
‘Actually I can’t wait to get another look at this guy. He’s something of an enigma, isn’t he?’
Nikki stood up and took her coat of the hook. ‘Okay, let’s go grill the enigmatic Oliver!’
* * *
Nikki and Joseph stood on the path in front of Oliver Kirton’s home. She had tried to call on him once before, and although he had been out, she had been taken aback by the Gothic exterior of the building. From the impression Rory Wilkinson had given her of the man, she had expected something seedy, even temporary. She certainly hadn’t expected an expensive Victorian townhouse.
‘Very nice, ma’am, in an Addams Family sort of way. Did you say the family had money?’ Joseph looked up at the thick stone window sills and high gables. ‘Does he live here alone?’
‘I believe he lives alone, but I’ve had mixed reports about the family. His ghastly uncle, Superintendent Kirton, always gave the impression of being loaded, but as for Oliver, his contemporaries seem to think that most of his inheritance went up his nose.’
‘Well, this place certainly wouldn’t come cheap.’ Joseph rang the bell, took a polite step back from the door and whispered, ‘I think I hear Lurch approaching.’
Oliver Kirton’s dark eyes still had that strange haunted look. With Rory’s information under her belt, Nikki could well appreciate that he had set many a young student’s heart aflutter.
‘May we speak to you, Mr Kirton?’
The man stood back and with an almost theatrical bow, ushered them into his home. ‘Please come in.’ He led them down a long hallway where numerous ancestors gazed at them severely from their portraits, as they walked along the thick carpet.
He opened two glass-panelled doors that led into a large and rather cold room.
‘My aunt’s place, before you ask. She’s in Guatemala, or somewhere tropical like that, saving a rainforest. I’m house-sitting until she returns — if she returns.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Her missions, or should I say her crusades, are legendary. I doubt I’ll see her before next Christmas, if then.’ He stared at them in a slightly vacant manner. ‘A drink of some kind?’
‘No, sir. Thank you.’ Nikki sat where he had indicated, in a deep and incredibly uncomfortable armchair. Joseph wisely chose to stand. ‘We need to know a little more about your relationship with Miss Helen Brook. Did you ever go to her house on the Westland Waterway for a treatment?’
‘Yes, once or twice, although I generally saw her at the Willows.’ Kirton draped himself languidly against an ornately carved fireplace. ‘Why?’
‘We need to identify and eliminate any evidence found there. Would you consent to providing a DNA sample, sir?’
‘Of course. Anything to help.’
Nikki was bothered by his vagueness. ‘Thank you.’ She indicated to Joseph, who was beginning to tear open a testing kit. ‘DS Easter here can do it straightaway, or you can have it done in the medical room at the station, whatever you prefer. There’s nothing to worry about, it’s simply a sterile swab wiped across the inside of your cheek, no more than that.’
Oliver Kirton shrugged. ‘Here is fine.’
A moment or two later, as Joseph was filling in the form attached to the DNA kit, and sealing the bag, Nikki continued to question Oliver Kirton.
‘If I may ask, what was your reason for visiting Helen?’
The man raised his eyebrows in a delicate arch. ‘Migraine actually. And a sleep disorder.’ He took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m sure you already know that in my misspent youth I had a problem with, ah, over-indulgence. Heroin, cocaine, alcohol, amphetamines, barbiturates, you name it, I tried it. Sadly, such abuse does leave the old body in somewhat of a mess as one ages.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘I’m sure my dear old friend Rory Wilkinson has filled you in on all the gory details.’
Nikki shrugged. ‘He mentioned you were at university together. Actually he said you were quite brilliant, sir.’
‘Said that, did he? Well, he was no slouch himself. Some of his work fell not far short of remarkable.’
‘What did you study, Mr Kirton?’
He paused, and a wistful look came over his handsome face. ‘I studied archaeology at Cambridge, then I went to the States, to the University of Colorado at Boulder, studying the Palaeolithic Age at their Institute of Arctic and Alpine research.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I had my moments of brilliance, Inspector, times when I managed without any little helpers. The studying was easy, far too easy. I have a brain like a sponge. It’s life that I find so bloody difficult to handle. One little upset, and bingo, I crumble.’
‘Are you clean at present?’
‘At present, yes. I have been for some while. The last clinic was awfully good. But tomorrow? Who knows? I’m an addict, Detective Inspector Galena. Brilliant, but an addict nevertheless.’
‘And Helen helped you?’
�
��More than you’ll ever know, Inspector.’ He drew himself straighter. ‘That is why I’m so worried. I’m not sure how I will cope without her.’
‘Is there no one else at the Willows who would see you?’
‘I have made an appointment to go there, but Helen was very special. I feel that I have lost more than just an understanding therapist. It frightens me.’
Nikki looked at the tall, enigmatic figure and wondered if anything would really frighten Oliver Kirton. His act was good, but she doubted that he was telling them the truth. She wondered why he was lying.
* * *
On the other side of town, outside a rambling, down-at-heel cottage in a lane that led towards the fen, Yvonne Collins and Jessie Nightingale tossed a coin for who was going to take the lead interviewing Titus Whipp.
‘Detectives should always go first,’ said Yvonne smugly.
Jessie tried flattery. ‘But you have so much more experience than me, Vonnie.’
They had read Eric Barnes’ initial report and both were wishing they could have shifted this particular call onto the sergeant.
Yvonne sighed and opened the car door. ‘Okay, let’s get this over with. And I warn you, if I catch even the slightest glimpse of a stuffed dead bird, you are on your own.’
Titus Whipp answered the bell almost immediately. Both women were treated to a ghastly leer.
Yvonne took one look over his shoulder, and decided that the interview was going to take place right there on the doorstep. No way was she going inside a museum packed full of dead animals.
‘Come in, do!’ They were treated to the smell of unwashed clothes and musty rooms long closed off from fresh air and sunlight.
‘It’s all right, sir. We just have a few questions for you. We won’t take long.’
‘Then please, come in and sit down.’
Jessie frowned and glanced at her colleague. Eric Barnes had said that Titus Whipp was rude, aggressive, and unhelpful. The change of attitude must be due to the fact that they were women. Not only that, but they were attractive too.
‘No, we’re fine, sir. Now, can you tell us whether you ever went to Helen Brook’s treatment room at Westland Waterway?’
The man brushed long straggly hair from his neck, and stared at them. He was obviously annoyed by their reluctance to enter his home.
‘Yes, once. I was booked in at the Willows, but her car was in for a service so she saw me at her home.’
Yvonne shuddered. How could Helen have actually shared a room with this man? Let alone touch his grubby body. ‘May we ask why you were seeing her, sir?
‘No, you may not. I am hardly likely to discuss my medical problems out here on my doorstep, am I? In fact, I have no intention of discussing my private business anywhere.’
‘Fine, sir. But I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to call into the station as soon as possible. We need a DNA sample from you.’
‘And why would you want that? I can refuse you know.’
‘Everyone who has been to Helen’s home needs to be tested in order to eliminate them from our enquiries.’ Yvonne was impressed that Jessie even managed a smile.
Titus Whipp looked suspiciously at them. ‘Or place the suspect at the scene of the crime. Am I right?’
‘Naturally we are looking for the person who murdered Helen Brook, sir. You’d expect no less from us, surely? After all, it was you, sir, was it not, who threatened the family of the lorry driver who caused the Blackmoor Cross accident? If you felt that strongly about her being injured, I would think you would be distraught at her death.’
Whipp looked down, breathing heavily. Yvonne saw that his hands were balled into tight fists. ‘Yes, it was me. Perhaps it’s time you two got on with your jobs.’ He began to shut the door. ‘I’ll give you your damned sample, but in my own time, all right?’
The door closed with a rush of stale air.
‘That went well.’
‘Didn’t it just.’ They walked back to the car. ‘Did you see those dead birds in the hall behind him?’
‘It was the badger that got me! Those beady eyes and those yellow teeth!’
‘The badger’s? Or Titus Whipp’s?’
‘Not much difference!’ Jessie slammed the car door, and they both began to laugh.
‘Frankly, if there’s got to be another interview with Road Kill Man, Joseph or the DI can have it. What a nightmare!’ She turned the key in the ignition. ‘Where next?’
‘The Willows. DI Galena wants to know if any of the staff or organisers of tonight’s vigil have been threatened again, and we have to be discreet. No frightening the shits out of anyone.’
‘Okay, no problem, Vonnie.’ Jessie flipped her indicator and turned left. ‘I wonder what Mr Whipp’s medical problem was anyway?’
‘Oh please! Pass me the sick bag!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
All leave at Greenborough police station had been cancelled. Uniformed officers hung around in groups, talking quietly as they awaited their instructions for that night. The atmosphere was subdued, quite unlike the usual organised chaos that preceded any operation requiring a mass police presence on the streets. On this occasion, no one knew exactly what to expect.
In her office, Nikki read through the latest report to land on her desk — Professor Wilkinson’s prelim on the late Andrew Gregory. It made sickening reading, and the letter attached made it no easier to bear.
Detective Inspector. Just to let you know that, as previously discussed, Mr Gregory died at the hands of one or maybe two, professional killers, men skilled in the art of torture. The worrying thing to my mind is that in his case, the serious damage, the terrible internal injuries and the broken bones, were all inflicted with bare hands. (This included the manipulation of spinal vertebrae allowing the intervertebral disc to press on the spinal cord, causing paralysis of the legs and dysfunction of the bladder.) I believe the tools found in the bedroom at the crime scene were simply trappings intended to frighten the victim. None of them were used to inflict any of the mortal wounds. The person or persons who tortured Mr Gregory had a high degree of anatomical knowledge, especially as regards the positioning of vital internal organs and nerve centres. I do not know how the victim managed to live through the night and into the next day. His need to be reunited with his loved one must have been exceptionally strong to override his appalling injuries.
Now, my dear colleague, I know I’m not the detective here, but humour me, if you will. I am certain these men were hired by people with an awful lot at stake, and a small fortune to spend. Killing and maiming like that does not come cheap, and I swear you won’t find any boot camp in this country with such specialist skills in their instruction manual. I have only ever seen this kind of thing once before, and that was in Asia. I know these men were unsuccessful this time, but I’m sure they could count their failures on one hand. Miss Starr had a long-term illness which caused her to suffer a massive heart attack after a relatively short beating. The younger man, Alex Power, was extensively beaten and tortured prior to being strangled. The chisel was hammered through the neck post-mortem. Why, I have no idea. (Maybe anger at not finding out what they wanted to know?)
In Andrew’s case, I suspect the killers were unprepared to find a man they probably had down as just some computer geek. They hadn’t reckoned on his strong will to stay alive. Proves even hired assassins can’t win them all. Thank God. Good luck tracking down this delightful pair, although frankly, I doubt you will ever trace them. Sorry, Rory.
Nikki closed the file. This would have to wait until after tonight.
‘Nikki?’ The superintendent was standing in her doorway.
‘Come on in, sir. Are we all geared up and ready to go?’
‘Almost, although I’ve made one change of plan.’ He sank slowly onto a chair. ‘Under the circumstances, I have asked the organisers of the vigil to bring forward the flower float to midnight instead of dawn. It should lessen the amount of people hanging around all night.
’
‘Good move, sir. Hopefully once the flowers have been dealt with, a lot of the crowd will go home.’
‘That’s the plan. Although the officers already down there say it’s been building up all afternoon. Apparently it looks like a mini rock festival.’
‘But a lot quieter, I hope.’ Nikki noticed her boss looked unusually drawn. ‘Has intelligence tracked anything planned for tonight? Hecklers? Yobs out for a punch up?’
‘Nothing obvious. No social media chatter asking the usual troublemakers to meet up here.’ Superintendent Woodhall stretched his shoulders and shook his head. ‘But I still don’t like it.’
‘Is it that warning note, sir?’
‘I really don’t know. I just feel very uncomfortable about the whole thing.’ He stood up and took a deep breath, ‘Still, we can only be vigilant and deal with things as they arise. Let’s hope I’m wrong, huh? Thirty minutes, and we meet outside for a final briefing, okay?’
Nikki nodded. ‘I just need a few minutes with my team, and we’ll be there.’ As the super made his way down the corridor, Nikki went to the murder room where her group was waiting for her.
‘Before we all muster, anything we should know from the Willows Clinic? Yvonne? Jessie?’
‘They’ve not received any form of warning, ma’am. We asked if anyone had objected to the gathering on the grounds of public safety. That seemed the best way to ask the question without causing alarm.’
‘But no one had heard anything, ma’am,’ added Yvonne. ‘The only extra piece of info we have is that one of the part-time receptionists remembered the man who picked up the piece of purple agate. She confirmed that he was the driver for an elderly man who was a patient of Helen Brook’s.’
Nikki nibbled thoughtfully on her lip. ‘Then our other murder victim has no direct connection with Helen. That is something of a relief. Okay, well, back to tonight’s threat, let’s pray it’s just some irate resident who doesn’t like the idea of his front garden being filled with candle stubs and Mars bar wrappers.’ She gave them what she hoped was a reassuring look. ‘I’m sure it will all go off fine. It is a vigil after all, not a protest rally.’
