MURDER AMONG FRIENDS a totally gripping crime thriller full of twists

by JANICE FROST

  Her car was parked in a designated space a few minutes’ walk from her house. She could have gone to Hi! To Fitness on foot, but it would take at least half an hour, and time was of the essence. Moreover, there was a possibility that she might have to drive somewhere else afterwards. More a probability than a possibility, really. If she was right, and Dale really had taken Stacey, he was unlikely to be at work. In that event, Jane was counting on capitalising on Clutterbuck’s indebtedness to her old teacher to find out where he lived.

  There were a few spaces left in the car park at the club, mostly ones that were difficult to manoeuvre into, or too far from the entrance. Jane opted for one of the more distant spaces. No point stressing over parking when there was no need.

  There were three members of staff at the reception desk but Jane didn’t recognise any of them. She went up to a ginger-haired woman arranging swimsuits on a rail. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Crystal Clutterbuck. Is she on duty today?”

  “She’s on her break, Officer.” The woman took in Jane’s uniform. “I’ll just give her a call.”

  “Thank you.” Jane felt her cheeks burning. She really was justified in feeling like an imposter now. She had no right to be wearing the uniform while under suspension.

  A moment later, the woman returned, accompanied by Crystal.

  “Mrs Bell . . . oops, sorry, Officer Bell. Would you like to come to my office?” She glanced at the ginger-haired woman. “We can talk privately there.”

  She closed the office door behind them. “Have you come about the break-in?”

  “Er . . . No, actually. It’s about another matter.”

  “That’s a shame. Still, I only reported it this morning. Wasn’t really expecting anyone this quickly. Lucky if anyone turns up at all, really, these days.” She covered her mouth. “Oh, sorry, Mrs Bell. That wasn’t a criticism of you personally. I meant the police are so short-staffed, that’s all. All those cuts you keep hearing about.”

  “It’s okay,” Jane said, suddenly remembering what an annoying student Crystal had been. “I need to speak to a member of your staff about an incident.”

  “Is he or she like a witness or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Who is it? I’ll check if they’re on duty.”

  “His name’s Dale. He’s a pool attendant. I met him the day Chase showed me round the club. He was at a gig at the university with Chase last night.”

  Was it her imagination or had Crystal winced slightly upon hearing the name? “You don’t like him?”

  “Is it that obvious? I shouldn’t really say so, but no, I don’t. I was off the day he had his interview. I doubt he’d have got the job otherwise. I was never much of an academic, but I have good instincts when it comes to people,” she said pompously. “It’s like a kind of radar, actually. I can tell what a person’s like within minutes of meeting them.”

  “Oh.” Jane was doubtful. Surely, success in an interview should be based on a person’s suitability for the job, not on the interviewer’s subjective feelings. But she wanted to keep on Crystal’s good side, so she said, “That must be a good skill to have.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  “What was it about Dale that, er, put him on your radar?”

  As she’d expected, Crystal was a bit vague about her special talent. “Just a feeling, I suppose. He’s, I don’t know, a bit off. I’m not the only one who thinks so either, he’s not popular with the rest of the staff.” She lowered her voice. “Especially the women. I’ve had complaints about him.”

  “What kind of complaints?”

  “Nothing concrete, otherwise I could probably have had him on a disciplinary. It’s more that he’s kind of funny around women.”

  “Funny?”

  “Yes. For one thing, I don’t think he likes women telling him what to do. He never says anything, it’s just his manner. Plus, I’ve had female swimmers complain that he stares at them when he thinks they’re not looking.”

  “Have you challenged him on that?”

  “Of course. He denies it, says it’s his job as a lifeguard to be observant. Which it is, I suppose. But there’s looking and looking, isn’t there?” She lowered her voice even more. “There was a rumour that he catfishes. Do you know what that is?”

  Jane nodded. “It happened to my daughter a couple of years ago. She turned up for a meeting with a man she’d met online. He looked nothing like the pictures he’d posted. He was about thirty years older for one thing. When she changed her mind about spending time with him, he bombarded her with obscene and misogynistic verbal abuse.”

  “Right. I don’t have any proof, but a club member, a young woman, came up to me and said that Dale Lister looked a bit like a man who’d catfished her. Like your daughter, she’d been getting to know him online and agreed to meet up with him. She noticed immediately that he didn’t look anything like his profile picture but she went for a coffee with him anyway, just to be polite. She wasn’t attracted to him, so she told him she didn’t want to see him again. He turned nasty.”

  Crystal took a breath. “I’m not going to repeat the things she told me he said. I would have confronted him, but the young woman didn’t want me to. She said it had happened over a year ago and she couldn’t prove anything. She said Dale looks kind of like a lot of other guys. It was hard to be certain they were the same person, and even if we did accuse him, it would be her word against his. She just wanted me to be aware of the kind of person I might have working for me. Needless to say, she hasn’t been back since.”

  “I see.” Jane wondered how much of Crystal’s ‘instincts’ about Dale had kicked in after her conversation with this young woman. She pondered over what Crystal had told her and decided to chance her luck. “Crystal, I can’t give you any details as its part of an ongoing investigation, but . . . I can say that it’s very important that I find Dale Lister as soon as possible.”

  Crystal’s eyes widened. “How can I help?”

  “I need his address.”

  Crystal was hesitant. “I’m not supposed to just give out addresses. You know, because of data protection. We’ve been told that even the police need a warrant for personal information.”

  Jane considered Crystal’s indecision a good sign. “I know and I wouldn’t ask, except it’s really urgent.”

  If Crystal asked why if it was that urgent, she hadn’t obtained a warrant already she’d have no answer. But she didn’t. Just as she hadn’t questioned why Jane, whom she had been led to believe was a detective, was in uniform. She drew her computer keyboard towards her and brought up a database. She tilted the screen in Jane’s direction, gave her a knowing look, then stood up and crossed to the window.

  Jane smiled. She knew that she was on shaky ground in obtaining Dale’s address this way. But it didn’t matter. She intended to alert DI Warwick as soon as she found out whether Dale was responsible for Stacey’s disappearance. Warwick would have no problem obtaining the information via the official channels.

  “Thanks, Crystal,” she said.

  “What for?” Crystal winked. “See you soon, Mrs Bell. You get some sessions booked soon to get the benefit of your membership, okay?”

  “Oh. Yes. I will. Thanks for the reminder, Crystal. And, next time you see me, call me Jane, okay? We’re not at school anymore.”

  “Thanks, Mrs Bell.”

  Jane smiled. She hadn’t written Dale’s address down, but it was emblazoned in her memory. Eleven Walter Street. She pulled out her phone and considered calling Warwick. Then she imagined the DI’s sneering disbelief and pocketed it.

  Before she contacted her, Jane needed more proof. Her mind made up, she got in her car and headed for Sincil Bank.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Dale Lister lived in a mid-terrace house on Walter Street, one of a maze of identical residential streets in Sincil Bank. The last time Steph had been this way was six months ago when she took a visiting cousin to a football match
at the Lincoln Imps stadium just around the corner from Walter Street.

  They parked on nearby Henry Street and walked the rest of the way. Steph rapped loudly on the door of number eleven. They waited. Elias looked, discreetly, through the window and signalled to Steph that there was no sign of Lister in the front room.

  Then the door opened a crack, taking them by surprise. “Police. Are you Dale Lister?” Steph flashed her ID.

  “Dale’s my brother. What’s up?”

  “We need to speak to him urgently. Is he here?”

  “He doesn’t live here now.”

  “You sure about that?” Steph asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then you won’t mind if we come in and see for ourselves.”

  “Be my guest.” He threw the door wide and stood aside. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Let’s start with you telling us your name.”

  “Walter Lister. Dale moved in with his girlfriend about a month ago.”

  Elias smirked. “Walter of Walter Street. That’s a coincidence.”

  “Is what it is, mate.”

  “I’m going to check upstairs,” Steph said. “My colleague will keep you company while I’m gone.”

  “Sure. What’s Dale supposed to have done, by the way?”

  By then, Steph was halfway up the stairs. She didn’t stop to answer. On the upstairs landing she was confronted with black-painted walls, a crimson carpet and three doors, one of which, wide open, led to a bathroom. She turned the knob on the first door and looked inside. It was small, one wall painted a garish red, the others white. There was an attractive cast iron fireplace, a single bed, a side table, a rack of clothes. Nowhere that anyone could be hiding.

  The second bedroom was larger, three white walls, one deep purple, more sparingly furnished than the first. Again, nowhere Lister could have Stacey hidden away.

  Steph moved to the window, looked outside. Directly under her was the kitchen, a single-storey extension projecting into the back yard. There was a small, stone outbuilding, probably once used as a coal house, at the end of the yard. Yard backed onto yard all along the terrace, separated on three sides by brick boundary walls. Steph’s gaze was drawn to the coal house. It had a door with a padlock.

  There was a creak on the stairs. She turned sharply, ready to reprimand Elias for leaving Lister alone downstairs, but it was Lister, not Elias, who stood in the doorway.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Where’s my colleague?” Steph felt a prickle of unease.

  “Downstairs.”

  She was standing with her back to the window. Dale took a step towards her. His right arm was behind his back, his left in his pocket. He shouldn’t be up here. Something’s wrong. Steph took a step back. “Show me your hands! Now!”

  He was on her before she had a chance to react, dragging her away from the window, slamming her hard against the wall.

  Steph gagged as some rough material was stuffed into her mouth and shoved right to the back of her throat. She blinked, saw Lister’s face morph into Cal’s, blinked again and Lister’s bearded face was inches from her own.

  “Don’t struggle.” He showed her the knife he’d had concealed behind his back. “It’ll only make it worse for you.” He looked her in the eye. “And for your friend downstairs.”

  Steph nodded, still gagging. She felt like she was suffocating. She had to calm herself, try to regulate her breathing, or she’d go under. Not easy with adrenalin shooting through her veins. She focussed on Elias. On Stacey. For their sake, she had to hold it together.

  Lister. Dale Lister — for that’s who he had to be — forced her over to the bed and shoved her, face down, onto the mattress. Panic surged through her. He’s going to smother me! But when she turned her head to the side to gasp for air, he did nothing to stop her. She struggled again. He straddled her, knees on her arms, his body weight pinning her to the yielding mattress, making movement all but impossible.

  Steph strained to lift her head. Lister grabbed hold of her hair and slapped her, hard, across the face, bringing tears to her eyes. She heard the unmistakeable sound of tape being ripped from its roll. He used it to secure her gag.

  That done, he opened a drawer in the bedside table and took out some twine. It cut, cruelly, into the skin of her wrists and ankles as he pulled it tight, then tighter.

  If he’s tying me up, it means he’s not going to kill me, right? Then a terrifying thought struck her. Had he already killed Elias?

  At last, he was done. He got off her. Steph’s legs prickled as some feeling began to return. Lister crossed to the window, looked out. She wondered if he was looking at the coal shed, whether Stacey was in there, similarly bound and gagged. Or worse. He’d already killed at least twice. The chances of any of them cheating death seemed non-existent.

  It must have occurred to him by now that tying up two police officers wasn’t the smartest move he could have made. Was he panicking too? Going over his options? He had to realise they were all bad. If not for the gag, she’d be negotiating with him right now, telling him that there was no way forward other than by giving himself up. But he’d silenced her. He didn’t like his victims to have a voice.

  She strained her neck, cricking it painfully in an effort to twist round to see what he was doing. He was still at the window, head bowed, no longer looking out. Seconds ticked by. Minutes. He seemed frozen. Good. That might mean he had no clue what to do next.

  Steph almost smiled at the irony of her situation. This was nothing like the scene that had played out between her and Cal more than a dozen years ago, yet here she was again, at the mercy of a dangerous man.

  His indecision made her anxiety surge again. After a while she began willing him to do something. Why? As long as he remained frozen, she was safe. But the longer he delayed, the more she began to lose her grip on reality. She closed her eyes, opened them and didn’t immediately recognise her surroundings. When she did, it was with a sense of déjà vu.

  “Stephanieee!” The radio stopped abruptly. He’d crept into the kitchen while she was absorbed in chopping carrots, humming along to a song with a catchy tune. Startled, she turned around.

  “How did you get in?”

  “You were careless.”

  “No, I wasn’t. How did you get in?”

  “You let Marketa have a key. Moving back in, was she? I saw the boxes in the hall at her place all packed up and ready to go.”

  Steph shivered. “Marketa? What . . ?”

  He shook his head. “Dead, Steph. It took longer than I thought. She was a fighter, your friend, I’ll say that for her. But we got there in the end.”

  “That’s not funny, Cal.” She still hadn’t got it. Even after everything. His words were so repugnant that she thought he was making a sick joke. He’d always hated Marketa.

  He waved the keys in front of her eyes. Marketa would never have surrendered them to him willingly. It was true! He saw she believed him at last, and a slow smile spread across his face.

  “Open your eyes!”

  Steph didn’t understand. Her eyes were already open. Was he speaking metaphorically? She made to rub her eyes and found that she couldn’t because something was stopping her arms from moving.

  “Open your eyes!”

  The voice didn’t sound right. She blinked in confusion. The face bearing down on her wasn’t Cal’s.

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you deaf or something?”

  She tried to speak, but something was stopping her mouth from opening. No words came out. Her throat felt constricted. It was hard to breathe.

  “Hey! Police bitch!” Suddenly, she was jolted back to the here and now. It was Dale Lister, not Cal, looming over her. “Is anyone else coming?”

  Steph nodded. That’s why he’d been standing by the window for so long. Checking for back-up.

  “Better be quick then.” He turned her over, roughly, reached for something behind her. When she saw what it was, Steph shook her hea
d frantically. She pleaded with her eyes for him to reconsider. He slapped her. “Stop it!” The pillow closed in on her face, covering her nose and mouth. Steph gave in to panic as she felt it pressing down, squeezing out the last breath of air.

  Step by step, Cal was closing in on her from the other side of the table. She couldn’t move. Her mouth was dry, her throat constricting so that she could scarcely breathe. He was on her now, backing her up against the sink. He grabbed her wrist. The vegetable paring knife she’d been clutching dropped from her hand, landing with barely a sound on the cushioned vinyl floor.

  “It needn’t have been like this, Stephanie. You have no idea how much I loved you, babe. We could have just gone back to how it was before if you hadn’t . . .” He turned his face away as though tortured by some unspeakable memory.

  Her chest was tight, her lungs burning. The palm of Cal’s hand closed over her nose and mouth.

  It took longer than I thought. She was a fighter, but we got there in the end. Cal’s words echoed inside her head. She thought of poor Marketa, fighting, just like her, to draw a breath in the final, terrifying moments of her life.

  The more you struggle, the longer this’ll take. Who had said that? She didn’t think it was Cal. Who then? She was confused. It really was impossible to breathe. Then, nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Jane could have found her way to Walter Street blindfolded. It was practically around the corner from the Lincoln Imps’ home turf at Sincil Bank. She, Sam and the kids had cheered the Imps on at dozens of matches there, strolling back afterwards, elated or, more often, downhearted, through the rows of terraced streets towards the car park. She must have walked right past Lister’s door countless times.