Death's Cold Hand

by J. E. Mayhew

  “This Corporal Graves character for instance,” Blake said.

  “Exactly. For whatever reason, Terry had a thing about Graves. He believed that Graves bullied him and had it in for him. There’s no written evidence to support this but it was certainly how Terry felt. When Graves died in the explosion, somehow, Terry convinced himself that he wasn’t actually dead and that somehow, he was possessing the bodies of people close to Terry.”

  “To what end?”

  “To ruin Terry’s life and ultimately kill him.”

  “It seems incredible that anyone could believe this…”

  “That’s why he was on anti-psychotics, Inspector. It’s hard for us to understand or empathise because it seems so bizarre but for Terry, it’s cold logic. He believes that each time he kills and leaves an effigy, part of Graves’ soul is trapped in it. Terry has a twin for that effigy which he destroys, thereby wiping out part of Graves’ being.”

  “Then eventually, he’ll have finished Graves off, surely?”

  “You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you, Inspector? But it doesn’t work like that. I’m pretty sure Terry will convince himself that somehow Graves escaped the trap and someone else will have to go.”

  Blake sipped his drink. “I can’t understand where he’s gone. Do you think he might leave the Wirral? Just run away?”

  “I think that’s unlikely. Terry is still fighting Graves and he sees it as a mission. I don’t think he’d run. It would be like deserting his post. Besides, his problem is in his head. Even if he were to run, then Graves would just pop up wherever he was.”

  “Jeez, it’s not like the Wirral is a big place. Where can he be?”

  “Someone might be sheltering him. It might be worth re-emphasising how dangerous he can be. Of course, there is the other possibility…”

  “Which is?”

  “Terry’s brain injury left him with epilepsy, too. Normally, his medication would control it, but he hasn’t got any of that with him. He might have had a seizure somewhere and be injured, disorientated or worse.”

  “If you can think of anywhere he might be drawn to, anywhere he might go. Because, to be honest, we’re stumped and from what you say, it looks like it’s only a matter of time before he kills again.”

  Nicola Norton bit her lip and looked thoughtful. “One thing that does come to mind. Terry’s focus has certainly been Pro-Vets and that’s partly because he works there but his paranoia seems to be focused on the charity staff. Or the more senior ones. Should there be another victim, I would be most concerned about one of Paul Travis’s drinking buddies, Barry and Dave but mainly on George Owens. He was Paul’s best friend and in Terry’s mind, most susceptible to control by Graves. If I were you, I’d keep a close watch on George Owens.

  *****

  George Owens stood in the middle of his untidy living room, looking at his phone. The police had just called. In one way, it had been a stroke of luck that White had attacked that tiresome DC Ollerthwaite but he had to think what to do now. Things were getting more complicated.

  Ufford had got what was coming to him, that was certain. The twisting little runt should never have gone on the fiddle like that. He was always taking things that weren’t his. A few bags of crisps here, a few printer cartridges there. Pretty soon, you just think anything is up for grabs and start syphoning off actual money.

  Well, that was all over. Pretty soon, it would all be over. He’d make sure of that.

  *****

  Rock Park, where Blake lived was only a ten-minute drive from Nicola Norton’s house but Blake drove deep in thought. Something nagged him about this whole business. He’d handed over the financial investigation side of things but part of him still wondered if there was something connecting the murders to financial impropriety at the charity.

  Wearily, he pushed the door open, bracing himself for the onslaught from Charlie but nothing happened. “Charlie?” he called. The little dog never failed to greet him. In fact, Serafina usually sauntered after him and neither of them were present. “Serafina?”

  With a mounting sense of dread, Blake crept into the kitchen but found nothing. “Where are you?” he whispered as he entered the living room.

  Blake’s stomach lurched. Serafina lay still on the sofa. Very still. Charlie whimpered, softly and licked at her ear. “Serafina?” Blake gasped hurrying over. The cat felt cold and she stared at Blake with glazed eyes. “No, no, no, no,” Blake hissed as he felt her flank. Her breathing was weak. Charlie whined and Blake scratched his ear fleetingly. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, boy.” He pulled his phone out quickly and called the vet. It went to answerphone and gave another number for emergency calls. Hissing with frustration, Blake hung up and rummaged in his pocket for a pen and paper. With trembling fingers Blake called the vet again, scribbling the new number frantically. “Don’t worry, girl, we’ll get you help,” Blake said. Serafina gave a pathetic rumbling growl and tried to scratch Blake, then slumped back onto the sofa.

  Chapter 34

  Chopper blades cut the air, sending sand and exhaust fumes spiralling outwards towards Terry. The constant whup, whup, whup sliced into his brain and made him scream for mercy. Graves sat in the cockpit grinning and beckoning for Terry to jump aboard but he knew that if he did, then the chopper would fly off with him dangling from the landing skids. He’d fall to his death. And all the while, Graves’s face closed in on him, laughing with that mouth filled with tombstone teeth that looked yellow and cracked against the leathery, suntanned skin.

  Terry’s eyes flicked open.

  Noel leaned over him. “Are you okay son?”

  Terry scrambled back across the floor, pressing himself against an old cupboard. “Leave me alone.”

  “Okay, okay,” Noel said, holding his hands up and stepping away. “You must’ve been having a bad dream or something. Yelling out like that.”

  “I- I’m sorry,” Terry panted. He shivered, dragging the blanket up around him. Sweat beaded his forehead. He looked up at Noel. Maybe Graves could reach them, after all. Maybe Graves was in this very building with him now, seeping into Noel’s body, infecting his blood and nervous system. Terry shook his head. “Mustn’t think like that.”

  “Like what, son?” Noel said, squatting down. “Are you ill?”

  “I-I’m fine. I just need my tablets. Can’t think straight without them.”

  “And where are they?”

  “At my flat but I can’t go there.”

  Noel shook his head. “There must be some heavy-duty lads after you, mate. What if I went?” Noel said. “If you give me your keys, I could get your medication for you.”

  Terry tried to read his face. Once he could just look at people and know if they were joking or lying. It had never been easy but he had learnt to be pretty good at it but now, he had to think. Noel’s eyes were wide and he had a slight smile on his face but not a broad grin. “Okay,” Terry said at last and fished his keys out of his overall pocket. “I’ll give you the address. Thanks.”

  *****

  Serafina had just appeared one day as far as Blake could remember. He’d come home from a late shift and the cat had been there on the sofa, growling at him. “She’s had a tough life, Will,” his mother had said at the time. “She needs a little TLC.”

  “But where did you get her from?”

  After all this time, he’d forgotten the answer his mother had given him. It was lost in the distress of her subsequent disappearance. Now he remembered it clearly, she’d looked up at him with twinkling eyes. “I rescued her,” she said. Blake just assumed she meant that she’d got her from a cats’ home or something but now, it hit him like a thunderbolt. The way his mum had looked, the proud defiance on her face, all told him that she had got Serafina from somewhere else. Why he suddenly realised that, he didn’t know. Mum had been at the beginning of her slide into dementia. It wasn’t apparent when Serafina appeared on the scene but, looking back, there were little signs; bouts of forgetfulness or sligh
tly odd behaviour. What if stealing someone’s cat had been part of it?

  By the time Blake’s mother wandered out of the house one dark night, Serafina had become part of the furniture and Blake never questioned where she came from again. He sat up and stretched, trying to get comfortable on the plastic chair that had tortured his big frame all night. The vet had tried to get him to go home but Blake couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t have slept anyway. So he twisted and turned on the seat, jumping up occasionally to read posters about ticks, canine flu and vitamins then settling down again.

  “It looks like the infection from the abscess on her tooth has spread,” she had said. “We’ve put her on intravenous antibiotics and some drugs to stabilise her blood pressure. We’ll keep her sedated and comfortable but all we can do now is wait and hope.”

  Serafina had become so important to him because she was a link with his mother, despite the cat having a seemingly psychotic hatred of Blake to begin with. When Laura came along, she’d helped them come to an understanding of sorts. The monster cat had even taken Charlie under her wing, the two becoming partners in crime. Blake had to admit that he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he lost her now. He’d lost his beloved Opel Manta up in Scotland, but that merely had sentimental value, being his father’s old car. Serafina was family.

  It was getting light outside now and Blake’s mouth felt furry and rough. He needed food, drink and a shower. A change of clothes would probably be in order too. The vet stepped out into the waiting room and Blake leapt to his feet. “Any news?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry Mr Blake. It’s still touch and go but we can call you if there’s any development. You can’t sit here all day…”

  “I know, I know. Look. Here’s my card. If you need to make any sudden decisions and can’t get hold of me, just do them anyway. Whatever it costs. I don’t care. Okay? Just do it. I don’t want to lose her.”

  The vet nodded and rubbed Blake’s arm. “We’ll do everything we can.”

  *****

  Even though he’d gone home to wash, change and look after Charlie before heading to HQ, Blake felt haggard and stiff as he stood in the Major Incident Room. It was clear that his team had noticed, too. “Are you okay, sir? You look as rough as a robber’s dog,” Kath said, peering at him.

  “Thanks, Kath, your concern is duly noted,” Blake said with as much good humour as he could muster. “Just a bit of cat trouble. Spent all night at the vets.”

  “Serafina, boss? Is she okay?”

  “We’ll see. She’s sedated at the vets.” He shook himself. “What have we got? Any developments?”

  “Still no sign of Terry White, sir,” Vikki Chinn said. “But a punter did come forward yesterday saying he saw a big man in overalls getting into a blue Ford Transit van just by the Thornton Hough Roundabout. The timing would fit with Terry White fleeing the area. We’re checking CCTV.”

  “Good work. It might lead somewhere. I just hope that whoever picked him up is safe, that’s all.”

  Kath raised her hand. “Nicola Norton sent us a list of haunts that Terry talked about. Places he went as a child, favourite pubs he talked about. Uniform are looking around them just in case.”

  Alex Manikas gave an embarrassed cough. “I don’t know if it affects the case, sir but there’s a lot of noise on social media about this rally tomorrow. Far-right groups are talking about coming to Port Sunlight tomorrow and there’s chatter at the other end of the political spectrum about stopping them. It could end up in trouble.”

  “It’s going to pull numbers away from searching for Terry White,” Blake muttered. “If uniform are having to focus on crowd control, there won’t be as many people to help us. I’ve put a guard on Barry Davies, Dave Jones and George Owens on Nicola Norton’s advice.”

  Kath looked puzzled. “Why just them, sir?”

  “Norton thinks they’re particularly vulnerable because they’re prominent members of Pro-Vets and were good friends with Travis…”

  “But Norton had a lot of contact with Terry White, sir,” Kath said. “She could be at risk, too, surely.”

  “Apparently, Terry White’s problem is rooted in a problem with facial recognition, especially amongst men. She doesn’t think she’s in any danger. What about White’s family?”

  “His mum lives in Wallasey but doesn’t have much to do with him, sir. We’ve got a car outside her house but I get the impression she’d call us if he showed up,” Vikki said. “Sad really. Imagine your own mother being afraid of you.”

  “Sad? The man’s killed three people, Vikki,” Kath Cryer said.

  “Yeah, Ma’am,” Vikki said, “I know that but when he joined the army, he didn’t imagine it would change him so much. And to be trapped in a paranoid world like that. It must be awful.”

  “You’re right, Vikki,” Blake said. “I think it’s fair to remind ourselves that whilst White has committed some serious crimes, and as dangerous as he is, he’s a sick man. He needs our help. Which makes finding him doubly urgent.”

  *****

  The blue and white police tape crisscrossed over the doorway of Terry’s flat gave Noel pause for thought. What had Terry done? Not for the first time, Noel wished he listened to the news a bit more closely. He spent most of his time stoned, reliving his wild youth and listening to seventies rock bands. Whatever they wanted the lad for, he’d promised Terry he’d get the medication for him and the poor lad was suffering. He had to act fast, though, that tape hadn’t been up long, maybe a couple of days at the most. This place could be crawling with coppers at any minute.

  He approached the door and inspected it closely. If the police had been in, it could have been forced and a new lock put on, so the keys Terry had given him might be useless. On the other hand, if the police had the cooperation of the landlord, then they wouldn’t have had to crash the door. It was a housing association property, so Noel reckoned they’d cooperate fully.

  The old man had a lifetime’s experience of breaking and entering but he was glad just to use the keys. Rummaging in his pockets, Noel was rewarded with the smoothness of a pair of latex gloves. Although he wasn’t very active these days, he always kept a pair in case the opportunity to nick something presented itself on a plate. He pulled the gloves on with a theatrical snap and pushed the key into the lock. The door swung open and, smiling, he ducked under the tape.

  Noel’s heart thumped as he scanned the small flat. He was getting too old for this and turning over a crime scene wasn’t a clever idea at any age. There was a good chance that the tablets would have been removed, especially if they were needed for evidence of some kind. Terry had said that he kept them in a kitchen cupboard. There was a faint whiff of burnt plastic in the flat and a few number markers dotted around but Noel couldn’t see anything else that told him what Terry might have been up to.

  “Bingo,” Noel muttered, opening the cupboard. Two paper pharmacy bags stood on a shelf inside. He grabbed them then froze. Voices drifted in from the corridor. A key rattled in the door. Noel scanned the room frantically searching for an escape route.

  Chapter 35

  There were days that PC Mark Robertson wished he could retire tomorrow. No, make that today, right now. He’d been sent to George Owens’ house to keep an eye on him but the moment Owens’ spotted Mark’s patrol car pulling up, the man was out of his house and standing by his front gate with his arms folded. Babysitting ungrateful members of the public wasn’t his favourite task.

  “I told the woman at your office that I didn’t want police protection,” Owens said. “So you can get back in your Batmobile and go and search for Terry White rather than drinking coffee outside my house.”

  “That’s news to me, sir,” Mark said. “We have intelligence that suggests White may target you. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “Terry White wouldn’t harm me, I’m a friend of his…”

  “So was Quentin Ufford by all accounts, sir.”

  “I have to go to work…”

>   “Look, Mr Owens, you don’t have to have a police guard, it’s your right to choose, obviously. And, frankly, I’d be happier hunting for White but I was asked to come here. I don’t have to sit at your side, I can be around outside your work if that suits you. As for coffee, I do have a flask in the car but then I’m facing a long weekend what with the rally tomorrow…”

  “Honestly, I’m fine, officer,” Owens snapped. “Now call in and tell them that I don’t want you hanging around me all day.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Mark said, climbing back into his car. He pulled away, glancing in his rear-view mirror every now and then. Owens didn’t move but watched him, arms folded until Mark rounded the corner of the road and lost sight of him. Owens was up to something, Mark felt sure of it.

  *****

  Although the drugs had worn off, DC Ian Ollerthwaite still looked very frail, sitting up in his hospital bed. DCI Matty Cavanagh didn’t mind visiting hospitals, there were plenty of pretty nurses to chat up and there were always grapes or chocolates to be had. The idea of being a patient filled him with dread, though. Matty was a fit young man and had managed to avoid spending even one night in a hospital ward. He imagined shuffling round in one of those smocks that tied up at the back, his arse hanging out as he dragged a drip stand about and shuddered. In some ways, visiting someone else in hospital cheered him up. At least it wasn’t him wedged in a metal bed surrounded by kidney bowls.

  “It’s good of you to come and see me, sir,” Ollerthwaite said. “I must confess, I’ve had a few visitors but the painkillers they gave me were so strong that I’m not sure I can remember who were real and who weren’t.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Casey Jones wasn’t real. Or rather Alan Hale Junior, the actor who played him in the TV series. He came to see me. So did Elly May Clampett, sir…”

  “You’ve lost me Ian,” Matty said, snatching a grape from the bedside cabinet and popping it in his mouth. “Anyway, it’s not a social call, I wanted to check with you about Pro-Vets before I go charging in.”