DARK HOUSES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Tell us about the boyfriend,” Greco prompted.

  “There was a rumour a few months ago that she was going out with Frankie Farr. You know, of Farr Construction fame, that bloke who’s always shoving up houses around here. I found it hard to believe because they’re just so different.” She paused. “Jessie was okay in her own environment, but she’s leagues away from the world Frankie moves in. He’s got money for a start. But the rumours were true. They were seen in the Crown, sat together in a corner, kissing and canoodling.”

  “Why were you so surprised?” Greco asked.

  “To put it bluntly, Jessie was dead common. She wouldn’t take offence either, if you said it to her. She knew what she looked like. She wore short skirts, low slung tops and flirted with anything in trousers — and not just flirting either. She got pregnant at fifteen. That resulted in one abortion, and I was told there were others since.”

  “And Frankie Farr?”

  “He’s from a close family. He’s an only child and a self-made business man. He’s a good-looking guy who could have anyone he wanted. So it always puzzled me why he chose to go around with Jessie of all people.”

  “In that case we’ll be sure to ask him,” Greco said. “Thanks, Grace. That was very useful. It gives us a flavour of the girl.”

  “Have we made arrangements for family liaison to keep an eye on the Westons?” DCI Green asked.

  “Yes, sir. I contacted them when DS Quickenden was taking Jonathan to the Duggan,” George told them.

  “I don’t fancy their chances, whoever it is. Mavis will eat them alive,” said Grace.

  Greco tapped on the desk top. “Back to the investigation. We need to know what Jessie was up to yesterday. Last night is particularly important. Where had she been? Had she been working? If not, who’d she been with? What was she doing on Arnold Street? It’s in the opposite direction from the Link, where she lived. It was late, so where was she going? Had she upset someone? So far we have no obvious motive for such a horrific killing. It was premeditated and he was waiting for her. The man who killed her had time to light a fire, don’t forget.”

  “My guess is she’d been working,” Quickenden offered.

  “We don’t guess,” Greco said.

  “We don’t know that the killer was targeting Jessie,” said Grace. “There is always the possibility that if this was the work of some nutcase, then any young woman walking down that road last night would’ve been a target.”

  “Grace has a point. So keep an open mind. Grace and I will follow up on Jessie’s activities yesterday, but it’s important to look at that house, and the street as well,” he said. “The house she was found in is up for sale. Craig . . .” he said to DC Craig Merrick. “You and Quickenden will speak to the estate agents, Harvey & Son, in Oldston Centre. Who has been to view or shown an interest in the property recently? Find the owner and speak to him. Go down that street and speak to the neighbours. But be careful. Ask but don’t give anything away. We don’t want to reveal any of the details. Jessie was murdered, and that’s as far as we go. The press have already got hold of this. Once they smell the truth about what’s happened, we’ll not get rid of them. While you’re talking to the neighbours, find out who’d lived in that house previously. It looked as if it was being refurbished. Someone else may have had a key — a workman, a friend, or a neighbour.”

  They looked serious and businesslike, and were all taking notes. The team had come a long way since their first case together. Except for Quickenden. He was standing by the window, his attention on something going on outside. Greco looked at him.

  “There’s a bunch of reporters out there now, sir, waiting for us,” he said. “I spotted Laycock from the Herald, and that chap from the Manchester paper has joined him. The rest are from the smaller, local papers. No TV or radio yet, thank goodness.”

  “We ignore them. We’ll hold a press conference when we’re ready.”

  “I’ll have a word,” DCI Green said. “Fob them off for now.”

  “We need to get on with this quickly. Back here at five to collate what we’ve got,” said Greco.

  * * *

  Grace was pleased the inspector had chosen her and not Speedy to join him. That would be down to her having known Jessie. She was under no illusions that it was anything else. Greco was no womaniser. He was back with his ex-wife and seemed happier. He was certainly a lot easier to work with nowadays. It was a shame though. He was the type of man women drooled over, and Grace was no exception. She doubted he was even aware of it.

  “You did well during the briefing,” he said as they went out. “That point about not targeting Jessie specifically, is a valid one. But if that is the case, then you know what it means?”

  “Yes, sir. Like I said in there, we could be dealing with a psycho.”

  “I sincerely hope not. If we are, then no woman in this town is safe until he’s caught.”

  The minute they walked out of the door, the reporters were upon them. The questions came thick and fast. Cameras flashed and several pushed voice recorders in their faces.

  “Got any suspects?” a voice called out. “What was done to her? Bad, I’ve heard.”

  “Ignore them,” Greco muttered. He ushered Grace towards a car.

  “You have to give us something, Inspector, or this lot will make it up!”

  This was Oliver Laycock from the Oldston Herald. Grace recognised him from the photo on his weekly column. He was somewhere in his mid-forties, tall with black hair and a short cropped beard.

  “I would suggest you don’t do that, Mr Laycock,” Greco said, and stopped in front of him.

  Laycock grinned at Greco. He moved aside to let a dark-haired female photographer through.

  “Smile, Inspector! I’m sure my readers would like a picture. You’re very photogenic for a cop.”

  Inside the car, Grace locked the door and started the engine. That reporter had got it right, whoever she was. As she prepared to move away, the camera was still flashing, and it wasn’t flashing at Grace. Before he’d patched things up with Suzy, Grace had hoped that she and Greco might get close. She’d dropped enough hints. She’d even helped him with childcare when Suzy had dumped his little girl on him. He’d been grateful, and it had changed their relationship, but not in the way she’d hoped. He was more open, less standoffish with her. But, wife or not, the more Grace got to know him, the more she realised that there was never going to be anything between them. Greco didn’t mix work and pleasure. He kept all his colleagues at arm’s length and only rarely joined them for a drink in the pub.

  Grace pulled away, heading towards the centre of town. The female photographer kept flashing away at them. “She likes you,” Grace joked.

  “She wants a story, that’s all.”

  “She said you were photogenic.”

  “Like I said, a story. And if she thinks a bit of flattery will get her anywhere, she’s very wrong.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with flirting, sir.” Grace bit her tongue. Why did she have to say that?

  “There is when you’re a married man. And anyway, reporters aren’t my cup of tea.” He chuckled.

  Grace felt her cheeks flush. “Sorry, sir. Slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean anything by it. But you’re not actually married, are you? You and Suzy are divorced.”

  “A formality,” he assured her. “We will put things right very soon.”

  Amazing. He hadn’t shut her out. He didn’t seem to mind talking about his family with her. With everyone else it was very much a no go area.

  “The press are really going to make this difficult,” he said, looking into the rear mirror. “You recognised Laycock?”

  “Only from his column. Some of the stuff he writes makes my blood boil, but I’ve never had a run in with him before.”

  “I think we’re being followed.”

  “The red saloon? I spotted it. I’ll try and lose it. I’ll take a run up the bypass first, put them off the scent. Then I thought
the Crown? Speak to the staff. Check what shifts Jessie worked yesterday, and what time she left.”

  “My thoughts too,” he said. “After which, I suppose we’ll have to speak to her mother.”

  “God help us. Mavis won’t be pleased. She hates the police, and given what’s happened she’s bound to blame us,” Grace replied.

  “That’s hardly logical.”

  “Mavis isn’t logical. She’ll be emotional and angry and she’ll want to vent that anger on someone.”

  Grace took them down the bypass towards Manchester and then around the first roundabout. By the time they were back in Oldston, the red saloon had disappeared.

  “The Crown has a car park but I’ll hide ours round the back,” she said.

  “What’s this place like?”

  “I’ve not been here in a while. You know how it is, getting babysitters and all that. The last time I came here they were doing meals. The food wasn’t bad either.”

  “Me and Suzy could do with finding somewhere local and decent to eat.”

  “Hope you have better luck than I did. I was halfway through the pudding when I got a phone call to say that Holly had a temperature.” She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t bothered much since then.”

  “Who runs this place?”

  “A woman called Megan Hunter. She’s okay, doesn’t stand for any bother. She’s a friend of my mother’s.”

  It was three in the afternoon and, apart from a couple finishing a late lunch, the pub was empty.

  Grace spoke to the woman behind the bar. “DC Harper and DI Greco. Oldston CID.”

  “Jessie?” The woman’s face dropped. “I can’t get my head round it. She was only here last night, stood where you are now,” she said, nodding at Greco.

  “Are you Megan Hunter?” said Greco.

  “Yes. I’m the landlady.” She beamed at Grace. “You okay, Grace? Enjoying the job?”

  Grace smiled back, and nodded. “What hours did Jessie work yesterday?”

  “She did the lunchtime shift, twelve to four. She was back in at nine and stayed until eleven thirty. She was fine, laughing and chatting with the punters. There were no problems, nothing unusual. I just don’t get it.”

  “Did she leave with anyone?” Greco asked.

  “No. She did tell me earlier on that Frankie was picking her up, but then she got a text. Apparently he couldn’t make it. Had a better offer, if you ask me.”

  Megan Hunter folded her arms and tucked them under her chest.

  “I take it you don’t like him much?” Grace said.

  “He’s flash and mouthy. He looks like class but that’s a sham, believe me. I don’t care what school he went to or how wealthy his family is — that young man is trouble.”

  “Anything in particular?” Grace said.

  “He started a fight in here last weekend, all over nothing. Some bloke slapped Jessie on the backside and he was off. Jumped over the table and wrestled him to the floor.”

  Grace shot Greco a look. This was a side of Frankie Farr she hadn’t known about.

  “He might look like a well-mannered, businessman type, but that’s just the gloss. I think that’s why he liked Jessie so much. He recognised a kindred spirit. With her he could be himself, act natural. He didn’t have to put on that front of his.” Megan Hunter winked. “The one with you looks okay, Grace. Your mother would approve.”

  Grace blushed. God knows what Greco must think. They weren’t here for a drink, for pity’s sake. They were investigating a murder. “Did Frankie Farr come in here at all yesterday?” she said.

  “Not as I remember.” Megan paused. “No. Last time he was in was the night before. And that night he took Jessie home. She came into work yesterday, so everything must have been fine.”

  “Did Jessie spend time with anyone else yesterday? Did anyone bother her last night? Ask to meet up after her shift?”

  “No, I don’t think so. We were run off our feet to be honest. Oldston United were playing at home and the ground is only down the road.”

  “Thanks, Megan. You’ve been a help. We might need to talk to you again though.” Grace smiled.

  “Come back anytime. And bring your dishy bloke with you!” They returned to the car.

  Grace was blushing again. “Sorry about that, sir.”

  “It’s okay, Grace.”

  “What do you think? What she said about Frankie Farr — that’s not how I saw him at all,” said Grace.

  “Megan Hunter has no reason to lie, and she sees more of him than you do. We’ll speak to him, and see what we think. Jessie’s movements yesterday seem straightforward enough. But if she wasn’t seeing Frankie and she wasn’t going home, then what was she doing on Arnold Street?”

  “Even if Megan Hunter didn’t hear it, Jessie could have arranged to meet someone. Like I said at the briefing, Jessie was a bit of a man-eater. Anything in trousers . . .”

  “Is it likely, given she had Frankie Farr on her case?”

  “With the Jessie I knew, highly likely. She had precious few scruples and wouldn’t think twice if the offer was good enough.”

  “Fancy tackling Mavis now?”

  “We’ll go to the flat, and see if she’s back yet. If she isn’t, then we’d better find Frankie Farr. See what he’s got to say for himself.”

  Chapter 4

  Something bad, something bad.

  What did they mean, those words going round in his head? They were making him feel dizzy. He wasn’t helping by shaking that cereal into a bowl. If he thinks I can eat breakfast, he’s bloody mad!

  “Help yourself to milk.”

  “Was I here last night? I can’t remember.”

  The man laughed, and carried on sorting breakfast. He shouldn’t laugh. It was getting him confused. Neville didn’t know what was funny anymore. He still hadn’t worked out if this man was real. He looked real, but then they all did. His world was populated by shadowy figures — some spoke, some didn’t. Some said they would help him . . . all this one did was give him pills.

  Neville stared at him, trying to work it out. Could he trust his own mind? Well, the short answer to that was no. He wanted to reach out and grab hold of him, touch real flesh. The urge made his palms itch. But he was scared. What if he wasn’t real? What then? Neville didn’t even know his name. He didn’t even know when he’d appeared in his life, or how.

  “I’m surprised you need to ask that.”

  “The voices were playing up again. They were at me all night. They wanted me to do something bad.” Neville lowered his voice. “I have done something bad. I must have done. They don’t give up, those voices. If I don’t do what they want, they don’t go away. They bellow away inside here.” He pointed to his head.

  “You had a good time, though. Didn’t I say we’d have fun?”

  “When was that?”

  “A while ago.”

  “It was bad fun. I hurt that girl.”

  “Make sure you take your pills properly today.”

  “What good will they do?” Does he really think they do any good? “You do believe me. I’m not telling lies. I went somewhere last night and I did something real bad.”

  He had that look on his face. “You know, don’t you? You know what I did.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said at last.

  The relief. Neville closed his eyes and lets it wash through him. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. He was real — the man. Neville had done those things. He remembered now. He wasn’t going mad after all.

  “You’re all over the papers.” The man slapped down the latest edition of the Herald on the table. “You’re famous. You, of all people. Imagine that.”

  “Will I like being famous?” Neville wasn’t sure. Could a person be famous for doing those bad things?

  “Depends whether they catch you or not.”

  Neville tried to read what it said. But the words moved and blurred in front of his eyes. “They haven’t put my name. Shall I tell them?”

  T
he man looks at him steadily. It made Neville nervous.

  “Not yet. Better keep quiet for now. You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

  “No. Only you. I trust you.”

  “Trust.” He pulled a face. “Dangerous that. You shouldn’t trust anyone.”

  “I want to do it again. The voice keeps telling me to. It never stops. It’s in here all the time.” Neville banged his head with the flat of his hand. “Will you sort it?” He smiled at the man. “You know about that too, don’t you? You know I can’t stop.”

  “What did you do to that girl, Neville?”

  “I hurt her. I hurt her bad and I . . . you know.” He sniggered. “She had no clothes on. I couldn’t help it.”

  “I said I’d give you a girl of your own. Stick with me. I keep my promises.” He clapped Neville on the back. “But you did more than hurt her. She’s dead, according to the papers.”

  “I didn’t want to kill her. Just her heart. The voice said she’d never love me. I had to do something. The voice wouldn’t let up. It kept on and on about how she’d leave me. How she’d go off with someone else. I couldn’t let her cheat on me. She’d make me unhappy. I had to do it.”

  “Kill a heart, you kill a person. That’s how it works, Neville.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “What are you doing today?”

  “Are you going to take me out?”

  “No. I’ve got to work. You should stay here. Stay inside and don’t speak to anyone.”

  “Will they come and take me away?”

  “Not if you keep your head down.”

  “I want to see Edna. She makes me feel safe. Edna will know what to do.”

  “Bad idea.”

  “The voices say I must. She’ll know what to do. That’s what the voices say.”

  “Sod the voices! I’m telling you to stay in and lock the doors. If you don’t do as I say, I’ll shop you to the bloody police myself.”

  * * *

  “What’s with the boss taking Grace and not you?” DC Craig Merrick asked Speedy.

  “Don’t give a toss what he does. The less I have to do the better, mate, especially with him. I’m sick of the job to be honest.”