by M J Lee
‘So what has Don Brown got to do with all this?’
‘The body of one of the Beast of Manchester’s victims, Alice Seagram, went missing. Don Brown was paid by the undertaker to dispose of it at a research facility near Preston. The discovery of the body helped us secure the conviction of Harold Lardner.’
Emily Parkinson stared into mid-air for a few seconds. ‘So you believe Dalbey may be taking revenge against those who put him inside? Bit of a stretch isn’t it? He was well compensated. If I were him, I’d take the money and enjoy myself.’
‘But you’re not Dalbey. I interviewed him in Belmarsh prison. He was a bitter man, blaming GMP for his years inside. Even worse, his mother died while he was there. We refused to let him out for the funeral on the grounds he was a risk to the community.’
‘A pretty good motive. Shouldn’t we be looking for Dalbey?’
‘The short answer is yes and we need to find him quickly.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if it is him behind all this, he’s not going to stop at killing dogs or destroying graves. Everybody who was involved in the case could be in trouble.’
‘Including you?’
‘Including me.’
Chapter 28
Don Brown shivered uncontrollably, his teeth chattering loudly despite the tight grip of the duct tape.
He had tried everything. Blocking the pipe where the cold air came in with his foot. Rocking the freezer back and forth. Pushing with his knees braced against the lid.
Nothing had worked.
The voice had spoken to him once more before going silent.
‘We believe you will last two hours before your organs shut down and your heart gives out.’
He had tried to kick through the bottom of the freezer but only succeeded in exhausting himself, finally stopping, watching his breath mist in the cold air.
‘As you lie there dying, please think of Alice. Her body lay in a freezer like this for ten years. Cold, forgotten, unwanted. The same fate now awaits you.’
Don Brown banged his forehead on the lid of the freezer again and again and again, only stopping when he realised the futility of it all.
He thought of his wife and children. He longed to hug them just one more time, to hold them in his arms, feeling their small bodies next to his.
And then he saw his wife.
She was wearing her yellow summer dress, the one she wore when they went to the beach. She was saying something to him but he couldn’t make out the words.
He tried to ask her what she was saying but for some reason he couldn’t move his lips. Why couldn’t he move his lips?
She was beckoning him forward now. Behind her was a pool and the children were already swimming there, wearing their orange water wings, also waving for him to join them.
The sun was beating down and the water looked so cool and inviting. His wife was calling him to join her in the pool. He lifted his hands and tried to take off his shirt.
But he couldn’t do it.
He clawed at the shirt with the ends of his fingers but still the fabric clung to his body. Why was the cloth so cold? Why couldn’t he move his arms? Why couldn’t he take it off?
His wife vanished.
The children vanished.
The pool vanished.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the white plastic surface above his head.
And he felt cold. So cold…
Chapter 29
‘I think I’ve found him.’ Chrissy came running towards Ridpath and Emily Parkinson waving a printout in the air.
Ridpath stood up as she handed him the paper.
‘He’s working as a hospital porter in Tameside.’
He checked the clock; it was less than thirty minutes since she’d started to look. ‘Great work, how did you find him so quickly?’
‘Stroke of luck. I was looking in the electoral register and getting nowhere. You realise there are seventy-nine Don or Donald Browns in Greater Manchester? And then there’s another sixty-three D Browns. I was just about to start ringing them one by one, when I checked the wire. As I was looking, an alert came up about a missing hospital porter called Don Brown. I rang the local nick and they said his wife reported he didn’t come home from his shift at the hospital this morning.’
‘Could’ve gone for a drink or a walk,’ said Emily.
‘Not him, always comes home after work. And get this, he must be our man because he used to work at the mortuary. That’s how they met. She was visiting her dad who’d just died from a heart attack.’
‘Romantic,’ said Parkinson.
‘He’s missing?’
‘That’s what I just said.’
‘Come on, Emily.’ Ridpath moved quickly to get his coat.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To see the wife,’ he shouted over his shoulder.
‘Why?’
‘Because I think we’ve found Dalbey’s next victim.’
Chapter 30
His face looked almost peaceful in repose, with a few flecks of white at the flare of the nose and in the eyebrows. An enigmatic smile on the blue-grey lips reinforced the impression. Like a male Mona Lisa caught admiring himself in a mirror.
The expected curling of the body in a futile effort to keep warm had not happened. Instead, the body was stretched out, filling the length of the freezer, the hands folded serenely across the chest as if it had been professionally posed by an embalmer.
Death always comes as the end.
Don Brown’s death had taken less than the time allotted. The frenzied rocking and banging on the freezer had died down after a couple of minutes. Occasionally over the next hour it started up again, becoming shorter and weaker each time until finally there was silence.
That wasn’t true.
There was still the sound of the motor of the freezer as it pushed ever harder to reach the desired internal temperature.
Minus ten.
Cold enough to kill but not cold enough to destroy.
Perfect.
An incredible beauty was born.
He stared at Don Brown’s frozen face one last time and closed the lid, picking up his mobile to make the call.
‘Emergency services, how may I help?’
A cough to clear his throat. He’d tried many times to cure himself of this habit but he couldn’t stop. One day perhaps. It was one of the reasons why he had never made it as an actor. He remembered a theatre director criticising him during a casting. ‘Listen, love, can you stop coughing before every line. Did the playwright write a cough in the script? No, well stop doing it. It’s so irritating.’
He didn’t get the part, or any others.
He coughed again. ‘I’ve just seen a man breaking into my neighbour’s house. They’re away on a skiing holiday.’
‘And your name is?’
‘Brown, Donald Brown.’
‘The address is?’
‘10 Devonshire Avenue, Glossop.’
He heard voices in the background as the message was relayed.
‘Thank you, Mr Brown, a response vehicle has been dispatched, they will be there in six minutes, please stay on—’
He switched off the phone, cutting the woman off mid-sentence. The next step in the plan would now be implemented – everything was right on schedule.
Using a syringe, he laid a trail of blood spots from the bottom of the stairs to the freezer. He closed the lid, pulling out a card he had written from his pocket, and placed it on top.
He checked his watch and set the timer which he placed behind the boxes at the back of the basement. One final look at the plans to see if he had forgotten any procedure and he was done.
He walked back to the stairs, taking in one last look at the basement. ‘Time to turn up the heat,’ he said out loud, smiling to himself at his little joke.
It was payback time.
Chapter 31
PC Amir Khan and PC Becky Donachey were having a quiet day.
They had taken
a walk around Manor Park, checking for local truants, but the park was empty. Either it was too cold to wag off school or it was one of those days when lessons were more interesting.
Remembering his own school days, Amir knew it wasn’t the latter.
Afterwards, they had parked up at Manor chippy. Haddock and chips for her and a meat and potato pie and chips for him. It wasn’t halal but who gave a toss on a wet Wednesday in Glossop.
‘You doing anything this weekend?’
‘Nah, got a family dinner with the wife. Every Saturday, mum cooks for all of us. She spends years doing it and I always feel guilty if I don’t go.’ He stopped for a moment. ‘Actually, I’m made to feel guilty if I don’t go. Mums, especially Asian mums, all have Masters in guilt. You know, sometimes I think we should have my mum interview all the cons we nick. She’d have them pleading guilty in five minutes tops. You going walking again?’
‘It’s hiking and yes we are. As soon as the shift finishes on Friday, I’m off up to the Lakes.’
Amir took a large bite out of his pie and checked outside the window. ‘You got amazing mountains around here and you go all the way to the Lakes to climb one? Mental.’
‘Done all these and anyway we’re collecting the Wainrights.’
‘Sounds like a pub crawl.’
Becky sighed and went into lecture mode, something she often did with Amir. ‘There are 214 Wainwrights, named after Alfred Wainwright, a walker in the Lake District who described the fells in his pictorial guides.’
Amir nodded pretending to listen as he bit a large chunk out of his meat and potato pie.
Becky carried on. ‘They are hikes in the Lakes. We’ve done 79 so far. Should finish the rest by 2022 with a bit of luck. We’re doing Scafell Pike this weekend, just over 3,000 feet straight up.’
It was Amir’s turn to shake his head. ‘Mental. I’ll be scoffing a pakora, straight down.’
The Airwave squawked. ‘Report of an attempted break in at 10 Devonshire Avenue. One intruder. Over.’
‘That’s close.’ Becky picked up the receiver. ‘279 responding over. ETA six minutes. Over.’
‘More cold food.’ Amir put the Vauxhall into gear and activated the siren, turning the car 180 degrees so it raced down the High Street.
‘Any information on the occupants, over?’ asked Amir taking a sharp left at speed.
‘According to the informant, occupants away on holiday. Over. Proceed with caution, over. Informant not answering his phone.’
Another sharp right and Becky was thrown against the door despite wearing a seat belt. ‘Lewis Hamilton is it today?’
‘I’d beat him easy. As long as we were both racing police Vauxhalls,’ he added taking another corner.
Devonshire Avenue was up on the left. Becky turned off the siren before they turned into the road. ‘We don’t want them to do a runner.’
They glided to a stop outside a detached house, set back from the road. It was built from the local dark grey gritstone with overgrown gardens front and rear.
‘Nice area if you can afford it. Shame they’ve let the house go to pot.’
They both stepped out of the car, putting their hats on, adjusting their stab jackets.
Amir surveyed the scene. ‘Looks quiet. Perhaps our perp has scarpered.’
Becky opened the gate. ‘Come on, he might still be inside.’
Amir looked over his shoulder. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for back up?’
‘We should check it out.’ She strode up the garden path, ducking beneath a tree branch. The large, etched glass front door was up a few steps, slightly above the gardens.
‘Lovely house, must be four bedrooms at least,’ said Amir staring up at the first floor. ‘Big double bedrooms. With a bit of TLC, this would be a great place to live. I’ll check round the back.’
He walked over to a high wooden fence at the side of the house. The door to the side entrance was locked so he jumped up and down a few times trying to check if there was a path leading round to the back.
Becky stared through the frosted glass of the front door. Accidentally she pressed too hard against the glass and the door swung slowly open, revealing a dark hallway. ‘Amir, I’m going in.’
‘Wait,’ he shouted. But it was too late, his partner had already vanished inside. He ran back up the steps to the front door and strode through the entrance into the hallway.
No Becky.
His heart missed three beats.
Where was she? They should have waited for back up. ‘Becky,’ he shouted.
No answer.
‘Becky, where are you?’
He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and he swung round ready to strike out.
‘Calm down, Tiger, it’s only me.’ Becky stood in front of him, smiling. ‘You make so much noise, you’d wake the dead. The front parlour is empty. Nice room, but not my taste. Too old-fashioned.’
She brushed past him and walked towards the back. ‘Kitchen and living room should be this way. We’ll check here and then go upstairs. Looks like our perp has already done a runner.’ She walked towards the kitchen past the stairs leading up to the first floor.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for back up?’
‘The Sarge will be pissed with us if we haven’t already checked the house before he gets here. I’ll call it in anyway.’ She adjusted the mouthpiece to her Airwave. ‘Control, 279 here.’
‘Come in 279.’
‘Checking inside house for presence of the intruder. Front door open but… hello what’s that?’
‘What?’ squawked the Airwave.
Becky stared at a small door on the left beneath the stairs. The white porcelain knob was covered in dark red smears. She pushed open the door, careful not to touch the doorknob. A flight of stairs led down to a basement.
On the left, a single old-fashioned light switch stuck out from the wall. She pressed it down with her elbow and the light from a single bulb illuminated the stairs. ‘I’m going down.’
She began to descend into the gloom.
‘We should wait!’ Amir shouted, following her down the stairs, bumping into her back as they reached the bottom.
She had stopped to look around the basement. Two fan lights covered in dust and cobwebs gave a thin, diffused light across the whole whitewashed area. Blood-red footprints led straight to the single floor-standing freezer whilst, at the back, a pile of old boxes leant against another whitewashed wall.
In the half-gloom, she could just make out a note folded in two and standing up like a tiny roof on top of the freezer.
‘What’s that smell?’ Amir’s nosed sniffed twice. ‘Like the stuff you use with windows. Or in a garage. An oily smell.’
‘Yeah,’ she muttered, striding across the basement avoiding what looked like blood spots on the floor, and pulling out a pair of plastic gloves from her pocket. The note was hand-written on card.
The man you’re looking for is in here. Who’s next?
She read the note again. Was the burglar inside the freezer? What was he doing there?
‘Becky, we should wait for back up or the CSIs, we don’t know if this is a crime scene.’
‘And we won’t know until we check inside. Imagine the bollocking we’d get if we called in a whole team and there was nothing in here but half a lamb bought from some farmer. Well?’
‘But…’ he protested half-heartedly.
She moved the card to one side and lifted the lid before he could finish. She leant over and stared inside.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she muttered softly before averting her eyes.
Chapter 32
Ridpath and DS Parkinson received the call when they were on the M67 racing to Glossop.
‘It’s Chrissy, Ridpath. Two constables have been called to a house in Glossop and they’ve found a body. It answers the description of Don Brown we circulated.’
‘Shit.’
‘I’ll text you the address. It’s not looking good.’
‘Ok, Chrissy.’
Ten minutes later they were standing outside a large detached house interviewing the two police constables, having already navigated through the police cordon set up by the largest sergeant Ridpath had ever seen this side of a wrestling ring.
‘We proceeded inside and…’
The shorter female constable was talking. ‘Hang on, Constable Donachey, you’re not in court. Just tell me what you saw.’
She shifted her position. ‘Well, we got the call from control at 13:43 exactly, sir.’
‘It’s Ridpath not sir, and this is DS Parkinson. Where were you?’
She glanced across at Khan. ‘We were parked up outside Manor Park, sir.’
‘Why were you there?’
Donachey glanced at Khan again. This time, he spoke. ‘We were eating, hadn’t had any time for lunch.’
‘No worries we were all uniforms once. There’s never time to eat.’
Khan relaxed but PC Donachey was still standing at attention, shifting from foot to foot.
‘So you got the call. What happened?’
‘We arrived outside. It looked quiet so we checked the perimeter,’ said Khan.
‘And then I noticed the front door was open,’ Donachey finished for him.
‘So you went inside. What happened next?’
‘The ground floor front room was empty.’
There was a squeal of brakes and a large transit van parked up behind them. ‘Looks like the CSI team and the pathologist are here, Ridpath.’
‘Can you brief them, Emily?’
She walked across to join the CSI team as they got out of the van and began to don their white suits.
‘Carry on,’ said Ridpath.
‘We noticed what looked like blood on the door leading to the basement so we went down. And we found it.’
‘Found what?’
PC Donachey blanched and looked down. ‘A body in the freezer,’ she whispered. ‘There was a card on top of the freezer.’
‘What was written on it?’
She thought for a moment, her eyes staring off to one side. ‘Something like, “The man you’re looking for is in here. Who’s next?”’
