MURDER AMONG FRIENDS a totally gripping crime thriller full of twists

by JANICE FROST

She didn’t have much of a plan of how to proceed once she got there. Doubts flooded her thoughts. Should she alert the police now, in case her suspicions about Dale Lister were correct? If she called 999, they could be here in moments. In the end, she decided to wait, at least until she’d checked the house from outside.

  Unless she could find some excuse for being admitted to a neighbour’s garden, from where she’d have a good view of the rear windows of Lister’s house, she’d be restricted to looking through the window facing onto the street.

  She found a space to park and was about to get out of her car when her attention was drawn to two people walking along on the other side of the street. She stared at their backs, then ducked down, even though they’d already gone past without seeing her. Her mind was in turmoil. If Warwick and Harper were here, it meant she was right. She took no pleasure in the realisation. The fact that they had all converged on this one street seemed to confirm that a young woman’s life could be in danger.

  It was a slight shock to see Lister answer the door to Warwick and Harper. She wished she could hear what they were saying. More than that, she wished she could go into the house with them. It was frustrating to do nothing but sit and wait while she longed for a piece of the action. As the minutes ticked by, impatience set in, then a creeping sense that something was wrong. She got out of the car.

  Warwick would be furious with her. She had no right to be here. Moreover, she was in uniform while under suspension. If she had an ounce of sense, she’d get back in her car and drive away, leaving the professionals to do their job.

  But they had been in there for such a long time. Jane walked towards the property. Just a quick look in the window.

  She saw a sitting-room and dining-room separated by an archway. An opening in the dining area provided a view of a seemingly empty kitchen.

  There was something odd about the fact that the downstairs appeared so quiet. Where was everyone? It was tempting simply to knock on the door. But what if she interrupted something? For all she knew, Warwick and Harper might be involved in a sensitive operation.

  Jane considered her options, then walked to the end of the terrace, turned right into the next street and knocked on the door of the house that backed onto number eleven’s garden. A woman who looked no older than Thea answered, a plump baby balanced on her hip.

  “Oh! What a beautiful baby,” Jane began, hoping the compliment would make the woman more receptive to her proposal. “I’m sorry to bother you. I can see you’ve got your hands full. I’m Special Police Constable Bell. The occupant of number eleven Walter Street has put in a complaint about some damage his neighbour has done to his garden wall. I need to take a look at the rear of his house from your back garden, and he’s not answering his door. I just need a quick look to check the full extent of the damage.”

  “First I’ve heard of it,” the woman said.

  “Oh, that’s probably because it only happened this morning. I was asked to check up on it as I was sort of in the area anyway.”

  When the young woman didn’t react, she asked, “So, would it be alright for me to access your garden?”

  “S’pose so.”

  “Thank you so much.” Jane followed behind her, noting the layout of her house, which would probably be the same as number eleven’s. The door to the sitting-room was open, giving a glimpse of a playpen and some baby toys scattered over a worn, grey carpet. They walked through the back room to the kitchen. Unlike at number eleven the front and back rooms had not been knocked into one. The woman pointed at a door in a small lobby outside the kitchen.

  “You’re welcome to use the bathroom if you need to.”

  Jane hadn’t been expecting that. Of course, in these Victorian terraced houses, the bathroom was downstairs.

  “Are you okay looking around by yourself? I just need to finish feeding Theon and get him to burp before I put him down for a nap.”

  “Of course. I’ll let you know when I’m finished.”

  “Sure. Take as long as you like.”

  Jane thanked her and went outside. There wasn’t much of a garden. The only green thing was a sad-looking round plastic table missing a leg, and some chairs. A small stone outbuilding with a splintered door stood at the end of the uneven, concrete yard. It was about half a metre short of the height of the boundary wall. Probably an old coal shed.

  Jane pulled one of the green chairs up to the wall and stood on it. Save for an area of neglected, peeling decking, number eleven’s back yard looked identical to the one she was in. She had a clear view of the rear of Dale’s house. Someone was standing with their back to one of the windows. Jane squinted. It looked like DI Warwick. No sign of DS Harper. Perhaps he was inside the room, concealed from view.

  Jane turned her attention to the other window. No one there. No sign of Dale. Were they all huddled together in one bedroom?

  A sudden movement pulled Jane’s gaze back to the first window. Warwick was no longer there, but Jane had a blurred sense of her pitching out of the frame as if she’d been rammed at speed by a violent force.

  Something’s wrong. Warwick hadn’t just fallen over, she’d been pushed. Hard. She’d dropped out of sight in the blink of an eye.

  Jane looked at the wall separating the garden she was standing in from Dale Lister’s. Maybe if she’d made more use of her gym membership, it wouldn’t look so much like Mount Everest. Her feeble upper-body strength obliged her to look around for an alternative to heaving herself up and over.

  The roof of the coal house was lower than the height of the wall. Jane dragged the plastic chair over to it and climbed up. The chair wobbled dangerously on the uneven concrete path. Bit by bit, she managed to hoist herself onto the roof. From there, it was easy to get on top of the wall. The drop to the ground on the other side looked daunting. The easiest way was to lower herself down, gradually, then let go. Pain shot, jarringly, through her knees and lower back as she landed.

  The frosted glass of the bathroom window barred any clear view of the inside, but Jane made out enough to know what she was looking at. A dark shape, lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet bowl. DS Harper.

  The window was locked. She looked around for something to break the glass and found a brick. It was slightly disquieting to realise that she had something in common with a serial killer. Dale Lister used a brick to weigh down the lid of his wheelie bin. She grabbed it, shielded her face with her arm and smashed the pane.

  There wasn’t time to clear all the glass away before she clambered onto the sill. A stray shard, razor sharp, ripped through her left trouser leg and tore a gash in the flesh of her calf. “Aaargh!” Even with her hand over her mouth, her yell must have been heard two streets away.

  “Mmmmm.” DS Harper lay bound and gagged, on the yellowed linoleum. Ignoring the pain from her cut, Jane dropped to the floor beside him.

  “Mmm . . . mmm.”

  “Sorry. This is going to hurt.” The duct tape sealing Elias’s mouth came away along with a sizeable amount of facial hair.

  His eyes watered. A grey sock was stuffed in his mouth. Jane pulled it out. His tone was urgent. “Can’t move. Leg broken. Warwick’s upstairs . . . Back-up’s been delayed.”

  Jane stood up. “I’m going to help her.”

  “No! Wait! It’s too dangerous.”

  “I have to.”

  Jane curled her hand around her truncheon and crept into the hallway, hyper alert. A muffled sound drifted down from upstairs. It sounded like the noise Harper had made trying to communicate through his gag, only more stifled. It stopped, followed by an ominous silence.

  Jane grasped the square cap of the newel post, feeling the rough finish of the varnished wood on her sweating palm. The first step creaked under her weight. She stopped, held her breath, her stomach churning. Then, she moved, swiftly but lightly, feet barely touching the treads, to gain the upstairs landing.

  There, she stopped for a moment, listened. Laboured grunting noises came from a roo
m with a half-closed door. Heart pounding, she stepped towards it. The gap was just wide enough for her to squeeze through without making a sound.

  Lister sat astride Warwick. He was pressing a pillow to her face. Warwick’s legs, bound at the ankles, thrashed out ineffectually, then slowed to a stop. Jane watched in horror as Lister leaned in with all his weight and pressed down harder.

  Finishing the job. His determination to carry on after Warwick’s struggling stopped was shocking. It roused Jane out of her inertia.

  “Police! Step aside! Now!”

  She was surprised at the authority in her voice. It was, she realised, the tone she had reserved to blast her worst-behaved students at Ollie Granger.

  In other circumstances, Lister’s startled-schoolboy look would have been comical. Jane held her baton up in front of her to show she meant business. The fingers of her left hand curled around her PAVA spray. Her eyes flitted to Warwick, unmoving on the bed. Lister had loosened his grip on the pillow, and it had slipped sideways, revealing part of Warwick’s face. But Jane couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Please don’t let it be too late!

  Lister hadn’t moved. Jane took advantage of his momentary confusion. “I said, step aside. Get off the bed and put your hands against the wall. Do it! Now!”

  “All right, bitch, I’m doing it!” Lister rolled off the bed, crossed to the wall, pressed his palms against it. But his posture didn’t indicate surrender. It suggested muscles tensed and ready.

  You can do this. Jane’s heart, pumping alarmingly, disagreed. She advanced towards him, trembling slightly, acutely aware that his compliance was everything. If he resisted arrest, And why wouldn’t he? This is insane, she wouldn’t be able to restrain and cuff him alone.

  Lister knew it too. Head tilted to look over his shoulder, he watched her, cold-eyed, a cornered beast waiting to strike.

  Jane advanced another step, truncheon raised. Lister’s hands slid from the wall. He swivelled . . .

  “Mmmm . . .Mmmm.”

  Startled, Jane’s attention switched to Warwick. The momentary distraction was all Lister required. He barrelled across the last remaining distance between them, knocking Jane to the floor. Then he flung the door wide and bolted.

  “Mmmm . . . Mmmm.” Warwick had managed to shake the pillow off. Her bloodshot eyes stared into Jane’s, full of accusation.

  Jane struggled to her feet and crossed to the bed. For a split second, she was tempted to untie Warwick before removing the duct tape. Anything to keep her quiet a little longer. Then, she yanked it off.

  Warwick looked a mess. The lower part of her face was raw from the tape. Her lips were variegated — pale blue and pink. Jane reached two fingers into her mouth and pulled out a grey sock, a match for the other.

  Her voice hoarse, Warwick rasped, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Saving your bloody life!”

  “You let him get away!”

  “I did not!”

  “Untie me. Hurry!”

  As soon as she was free of her bindings, Warwick got to her feet. Jane worried she’d keel over from shock, or lack of oxygen, or numbness in her legs, but Warwick proved that she was made of sterner stuff. She headed straight out the door.

  She took the stairs three or four at a time, calling out, “Where’s Elias?”

  “Tied up in the bathroom downstairs. He’s okay, but he has a broken leg.”

  “Stay with him.”

  Jane caught up with Warwick at the bottom of the stairs. She grabbed her arm. “What about Stacey? Is she alive?”

  Warwick shook her off. “I don’t know.” She looked around. “He didn’t go out the front door.”

  They raced through the kitchen and out to the back yard. Warwick raised a hand. “Go back! Stay with Elias. That’s an order!”

  Jane stared past her to the outbuilding at the bottom of the yard. “Oh no!”

  Steph followed her gaze.

  Lister was at the door of the coal store holding up a red petrol container. The lid dangled loose. He held the container at arm’s length and tipped it upside down to show that it was empty.

  “He’s got Stacey in there,” Jane said quietly. She looked at Warwick and was surprised to see her blink three, four times in rapid succession. She seemed confused. “DI Warwick? Did you hear what I said? I think Stacey’s in the shed. We need to keep Lister away from it.”

  Warwick didn’t seem to hear. It was as though, in her mind, she was somewhere else. Jane hoped it was merely her way of focussing, preparing herself mentally for the coming confrontation with Lister. She was relieved when Warwick began to walk, slowly, towards him. Jane followed, a beat behind.

  Warwick stopped abruptly. She called out something to Lister. It sounded like a name. Cal? What did it mean?

  Close up, Jane could see that Lister’s clothes were drenched. The reek of petrol coming off him was so strong she could taste it.

  Lister held something up. Jane’s heart lurched when she saw what it was. A red, plastic safety lighter, the kind used to ignite a gas ring on a cooker. Beside her, Warwick muttered something. That name again. Cal.

  “No! Cal!” Whatever Warwick said next was drowned out by the sound of sirens. Lister started. He took a step backwards towards the shed.

  What’s wrong with Warwick? Why doesn’t she do something? Who the hell is this Cal? Where does he come into it? Jane took matters into her own hands. “Please. She’s just a young girl . . .”

  “Stay back, bitch!”

  Warwick stepped forward level with Jane. “Please, Cal.”

  Jane stared at her. She moved forward, positioning herself between Warwick and Lister. She no longer had any faith that the DI knew what she was doing. She opened her mouth to plead with Lister again, but before she could utter a sound, he held the lighter against the leg of his trousers.

  Warwick screamed. “No! Cal! No!”

  There was a clicking sound. The tip of the lighter sparked red. Lister’s trousers flared instantly. Within seconds, the lower part of his body was ablaze. He beat at the flames, only spreading the fire upwards to engulf his upper torso. Flames shot up into the air above his head.

  The sound of his screams made Jane sick with horror.

  Suddenly, Warwick ripped off her jacket. She rushed to Lister and began beating at the flames, repeating her mantra. “No! Cal! No!”

  Jane rushed to help her, but it was obvious that it would take more than beating with jackets to extinguish the conflagration. Suddenly, the sleeve of Warwick’s jumper flared.

  Jane swallowed, ran to her and tried to pull her back. Warwick pushed her away. Jane grabbed her around the waist, heaved with all her strength and the two women went tumbling backwards. Jane threw her jacket over Warwick to smother the flames, then rolled her on the concrete path. Warwick struggled to break free.

  Suddenly, Jane broke. She hoisted Warwick upright and slapped her across the face. “Warwick! Look at him. He’s not Cal, whoever the hell that is. He’s Dale. Dale Lister. It’s too late. You can’t save him!”

  Warwick went limp in her arms. She blinked, looked across at Lister.

  He was a human torch.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  A calm voice behind Jane said, “I’ve got her.” A firefighter.

  As soon as she was certain Warwick wouldn’t be able to throw herself at Lister again, Jane scrambled to her feet and made for the coal shed, only one thought in her head now.

  “Stacey!”

  The young woman was trussed up, legs bent to her chest in the confined space, but she was alert, eyes wide with fear.

  “It’s alright, Stacey. You’re safe now. I’m Jane Bell. I’m a friend of Thea’s.” Stacey nodded. Her eyes shone with tears. Gently as she could, Jane removed the tape covering Stacey’s mouth, untied her and led her out of the shed.

  The small back yard was abuzz with people — uniformed police, firefighters and paramedics. Jane indicated that she was unharmed and left Stacey in the hands
of a couple of paramedics. There was no sign of Warwick. She must have gone inside to check on DS Harper.

  Jane wasn’t sure what to do next. She wished for nothing more than to slip away unnoticed. Unfortunately, this was out of the question. She averted her eyes from the sight of the charred, blackened shape lying on the concrete. How had it come to this? Why would a young man with his whole life ahead of him set himself on a course leading to murder and suicide? Jane hoped he was dead. If not, he was in for a world of pain. She didn’t want to feel sorrier for him than she did already.

  “Love it when the bastards pull a stunt like this to avoid facing justice.” It was one of the PCs. Jane ignored the comment. People were entitled to their opinions.

  She found Warwick inside the house being treated by a paramedic. Her arms were bare, revealing red inflamed skin. Jane was in time to hear the paramedic reassure Warwick that the damage was superficial.

  “I owe you a new jacket,” Warwick said without looking up. Jane guessed this was as close as the DI was likely to come to thanking her.

  Without thinking, she said, “It was police issue.” Not that that would have escaped DI Warwick’s attention. “How is DS Harper?”

  “Broken leg, like you said. He’ll be fine. They’ve taken him out to the ambulance already. Stacey?”

  “Shaken, but unharmed. Her parents have been informed.”

  “What about Lister?”

  “I don’t know. It looked bad.”

  “Speak to someone and give a brief statement. You’ll need to make a full statement, but it can wait. Go home.” Warwick’s tone was different from the one she’d used to dismiss Jane from the scene of Mark Ripley’s murder. Maybe it was because she was exhausted, or in pain. This time, Jane didn’t need to be told more than once.

  But as she turned to go, Warwick called her back. She asked the paramedic to leave them alone for a few minutes.

  As soon as he’d gone, Warwick cleared her throat. Her voice was hoarse. “I . . . er . . . lost my bearings for a moment out there. I think it must have been something to do with my brain being starved of oxygen when that bastard tried to smother me. I thought Lister was someone else. No need to mention it when you give your account of what happened. Just tell them I went to his assistance and my sleeve caught fire.”