The Death Collector

by Neil White

  She was a long time coming, but then her shadow grew bigger.

  When the door opened, she seemed confused. ‘Hello?’

  He stepped forward quickly, pulling a knife from his pocket, an old fishing knife his father used for gutting whatever he had caught. He jammed it against her stomach and covered her mouth with his hand. ‘One scream, one bad move, and I push it in and you die here.’

  She whimpered, her eyes wide, her chin trembling.

  He nodded slowly. ‘Well done, Alice. Now listen very carefully. You’re going to come with me. You’re going to get in my car, in the boot, and not make any noise.’

  Alice shook her head but he pressed his palm harder against her mouth. She glanced upwards, towards the stairs, and closed her eyes. The sound of singing came from one of the bedrooms, sweet innocence drifting down.

  ‘No, you’ll do as I say. The other choice you have is that I kill you now, and then I go upstairs and do the same to your daughters.’

  Tears flashed across her eyes. She took some deep breaths through her nose and shook her head violently.

  He pressed harder, sweat speckled his forehead. ‘You’re not listening, Alice. You’ll do anything for your children, so do this for them. Come with me and they’ll stay safe.’ He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. ‘Yes?’

  Alice stared at him, anger in her eyes now, but then she nodded.

  ‘Good. Now turn around.’

  Alice turned slowly, so that she was facing the wall in the hallway. He took his hand away from her mouth and pulled out some thin rope he’d found in one of his drawers, meant for a washing line. He put the knife between his teeth and tied her wrists quickly. He grabbed her coat from the hooks on the wall and put it over her shoulders, to hide the bindings.

  She turned her head and bared her teeth. ‘If you go anywhere near my children, I will kill you.’

  He pushed his body against hers, so that she slammed into the wall. His erection pressed against her. She felt it and closed her eyes.

  ‘Don’t get carried away, Alice. We’re going now. Just remember, one bad move, one shout for help, and I run back inside and gut them in their beds. Do you understand?’

  Alice took a deep breath and then nodded.

  They walked along the driveway together, his right arm over her shoulder, his left hand pushing the knife against her ribs. He opened the boot quickly and pushed her in, folding her legs before closing it shut. She kicked against it once, but then she stayed quiet.

  He closed his eyes. Now, Sam Parker, you’re going to feel the hurt too. But your pain will never end, because you’ll never know the truth.

  Fifty-eight

  Sam was first out of the car when they got to Declan Farrell’s house, jumping from the back seat as the other two detectives were still undoing their seat belts. An ambulance was heading away, blue lights flashing, presumably with Carl Jex inside. A small huddle of neighbours watched it disappear. Gina was standing with them.

  As Sam ran through the gate, she moved away from them and smiled wearily. ‘Hi, Sam,’ she said, and leaned in to whisper, ‘it’s not all happy endings. There’s a dead woman in there too.’

  ‘I know,’ said Sam. He turned round to the two detectives fastening their jackets. ‘We need this sealing, and we need a crime scene team.’ He was junior to the sergeants with him, but his tone got them on their phones. He turned back to Gina. ‘What the hell has been going on?’

  ‘He’s had Carl Jex holed up in there since he went missing. The woman hasn’t been dead long, but Carl said that she tried to attack Farrell to get out and he killed her.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In the cellar. Joe and I went all over the house, so we’ve ruined some of the forensic trails, but it’s his house. I don’t know how it will weaken anything.’

  ‘And how’s Carl?’

  ‘Exhausted and frightened, but he’ll be all right, although he knows about his father. Farrell told him. He’s got that to deal with too.’

  ‘Where’s Joe?’

  ‘Gone to find Aidan Molloy’s mother. Declan Farrell was pretending to be a freelance journalist to stay close to her. He was deflecting and manipulating. I’ve spoken to the neighbours. He isn’t a journalist. He works at the newspaper, selling advertising space. He went out and we don’t think he’s coming back. He booby-trapped the house, left the gas taps on and a burning candle in the cellar.’

  ‘And he’s gone after Mary?’

  ‘It’s one of the possibilities. If you can get on the ANPR cameras, I know his registration number,’ and she reeled it off for him.

  Sam made a note and called Evans, and once he had passed on the information he walked slowly past Gina, heading along the hallway. He could see towards the kitchen. Nothing modern. The units and appliances looked old. He pushed open the door into the living room. It creaked slowly. Just like the kitchen, dated, as if trapped in time. No modern equipment. No television. Just worn-out furniture and a rug with bare patches in the middle. There was an old record player, plastic and small.

  ‘How old is this guy?’ Sam said.

  Gina appeared on his shoulder. ‘Thirties. This looks like he’s just moved into his grandparents’ home.’

  ‘What do we know about him?’

  ‘Not much. Neighbours said he has lived on his own since his father died. His mother ran away, and then his father died a few years later. I think he’s got a thing for married women and doesn’t like it when they try to leave. But you need to check out his wardrobe.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have a look. Back bedroom. The front one is another museum piece.’

  ‘What’s your take on him?’

  ‘Someone who can’t let go of his past, from looking at the house.’

  Sam left the room and went for the stairs. Everything smelled old and musty. Nothing had been replaced. Carpets or curtains or furniture.

  When he went into the back bedroom, the wardrobe was still open, and he gasped when he saw what Gina meant. Women’s clothes were sealed into suit carriers, different from the other clothes in there, all normal men’s clothing. Jackets and shirts. The women’s clothes were to one side, as if they had to be kept separate.

  Souvenirs, he thought.

  He closed the door. Although they were sealed, he wanted any DNA left on them to remain intact.

  He was about to go downstairs when one of the detectives ran up the stairs. He was holding his phone, and there was a look in his eyes that made Sam stop, as if he was about to say something he didn’t want to have to say.

  The detective took a deep breath. ‘It’s your wife, Sam.’

  Sam’s stomach turned over, his mouth went dry, the sounds in the house retreated quickly.

  When he said, ‘What do you mean?’ the words came out muffled, as if spoken by someone else from a distance.

  He had to grab the doorframe for support when the detective replied, ‘She’s missing.’

  Joe drove quickly on the motorway around Manchester, heading towards Mary, the lights along the carriageway painting shadows across his face as he went. What could he tell her? She had spent so much of her life feeling let down, building a new life away from her family in Ireland before being betrayed by the legal system when her son was accused. Hugh should have been there to do more, but he had been just another one of the men in her life who had failed her. Now Tyrone. Her supporter. Her campaigner.

  As he turned off the motorway and into the tight complex of houses he saw her ahead, standing in the doorway of a small Irish club. It was a long one-storey building of dark windows, a Caffrey’s sign above the door and a blackboard next to her advertising whatever act would be on stage later. She looked like she had just headed for a drink, in black leggings and a blue denim jacket, her arms folded as she leaned against the wall.

  Mary looked up as he slowed down alongside. She crossed the pavement towards him and climbed in. ‘What’s the problem?’ she said. ‘Why the urgenc
y?’

  Joe set off before he answered. He didn’t want her jumping out.

  ‘It’s about Tyrone,’ he said.

  Her gaze became fierce as he said it, her dark hair swishing with the sharp turn of her head, the glare from her hazel eyes making Joe realise how difficult this was going to be.

  He told her, though. About how they had followed the trail, starting with Rebecca Scarfield and then to another missing woman, and how it had taken them to a house where Carl Jex was bound and gagged, a woman dead on the floor.

  Mary closed her eyes. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said eventually. ‘He said he wanted to help me.’

  ‘He was manipulating you, keeping an eye on what you had discovered. Was it Declan – sorry, Tyrone – who carried out a lot of the enquiries? Was he the one who promised to speak to witnesses?’

  Mary nodded. ‘They wouldn’t speak to me, because of who I am. I put it down to guilt, that I reminded them of what harm they had done, and Tyrone…⁠’ She paused when she said the name. ‘He said they might talk to him, because he’s a journalist.’

  ‘And did they?’

  ‘He said they did but they weren’t changing their stories.’

  ‘He lied to you.’

  She looked down, and for the first time Joe felt her resolve break. Mary was a tough woman, someone who had dealt with some of the harder things in life, and she stayed in one piece because she had learned to build up her defences. Don’t get too close. Don’t give away too much of yourself. Don’t let others get too close. Joe guessed that Tyrone, or Declan, or whatever name he had used in the past, had got behind those defences, had told her enough untruths that she had decided to trust and rely on him. Finding out what he had been up to all along was the ultimate betrayal, as it prolonged the hurt for the person who meant most to her: Aidan.

  The tears were slow in coming. She was trying to hold them back and her breaths came in gulps.

  Joe stopped at the side of the road, in a bus stop just before an arcade of shops. He reached out for her hand. ‘You don’t always have to be strong,’ he said.

  She looked at him, tears running slowly down her cheeks and then she couldn’t hold them back any longer. Her shoulders shook and her mouth curled in despair. Joe put his arm around her shoulders. She resisted at first, but when he pulled her closer, she relented. Her arms went around him and she wailed, sobbing into his shoulder, deep wracking convulsions. Joe’s shirt became wet but he wasn’t going to let her go. Her nails dug in into his back.

  They stayed like that for a few minutes, until her grip relaxed and she pulled herself away. She stared into her lap for a few seconds before she said, ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘It’s corny, but I just wanted to do the right thing. Aidan seemed to be it.’

  ‘I should have trusted you, I know, but I’ve been let down in the past. It takes a lot. And I trusted Tyrone. It’s because he was Irish, or so he said. That reminder of home made me lower my defences.’

  ‘He’s done worse to a lot of people.’

  She wiped her eyes. ‘Everyone lets me down in the end. It’s always been the way, even back then, back in Ireland.’

  ‘I haven’t let you down yet,’ Joe said. Mary smiled, her eyes shining wet. Joe was about to set off again when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was Sam.

  He answered. ‘Hi, Sam. Have you found him yet?’

  ‘Joe, Alice is gone.’ Sam’s voice was filled with panic.

  Joe went cold. ‘What do you mean, gone?’

  ‘Just that. She left the girls alone. They’re with me at the police station now.’

  ‘Stay there. I’m on my way.’

  Fifty-nine

  Joe screeched to a halt outside the police station. His jaw ached from clenching and his fingers were white around the wheel.

  ‘I should go,’ Mary said. ‘This is personal stuff.’

  ‘No, stay with me, until I find out what it’s about. Stay in the car.’

  Gina was outside the station.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Joe said to her, panting.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gina said. ‘Sam got the call. He wanted me to stay with him, but they told me to wait here.’

  Joe called Sam on his phone. ‘I’m outside,’ he said.

  A pause. ‘Someone will let you in,’ Sam said.

  Joe waited for a few minutes before the front door of the station opened. It was a detective Joe had met before. DI Evans. She glanced at Gina.

  ‘She’s with me,’ he said. Evans looked like the argument about access was for a different day. She stepped aside and let them both walk past her.

  As they went along the corridor, Joe said, ‘Tell me what you know.’

  ‘A neighbour called it in,’ Evans said. ‘She’d heard one of the girls crying. When she looked out of her window she saw that the front door was open and the crying wouldn’t stop. She gave it five minutes and then went across. She found the girls there alone and no sign of Alice.’

  ‘Alice is a good mother,’ Joe said. ‘She would never leave them alone.’

  They turned into a room at the end of the corridor. Sam was in there, along with Erin and Amy. They were wrapped up in dressing gowns, their faces stained by tears, each holding a teddy bear.

  There was a look in Sam’s eyes that Joe had never seen before. Quiet panic, stark fear masked for the benefit of his daughters.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Joe.’

  ‘Has Alice texted or called or left any hint?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘She just wasn’t there.’ He looked up to the ceiling and blinked hard and fast, trying to control the tears.

  ‘So what now?’

  Sam shrugged, and in that brief gesture Joe saw all the helplessness of those whose loved ones go missing. The uncertainty, the complete lack of any answer, so that all they could do was keep looking until eventually they were either found, or they weren’t.

  ‘Can I have a quick word, in private?’ Joe said to Sam, and looked at DI Evans, who thought for a moment before she nodded her agreement.

  Joe stepped out into the corridor with Sam, leaving Gina and Evans in the room with the girls. Joe leaned in closely and said, ‘Your colleagues will look into every part of your life. I’ve learned this past week that things behind closed doors aren’t always as they seem. I’m speaking as your brother now. I think of Alice as my sister. She’s the mother of my nieces, Sam, and I love them both. So you’ve got to be honest with me now. Is there anything in your life with her that makes you think you know where she might go? Or anyone she might go to?’

  Sam looked down and gulped back tears. When he looked up again, he said, ‘No, nothing. We made time for each other; it was just a normal marriage. And if what you’re hinting at – that she might have run off with someone – was true, well, she wouldn’t have left the girls on their own. I know that for an absolute certainty.’

  Joe reached out for his brother. He put his arms around Sam and pulled him in closer. Sam resisted at first, as if he was awkward, but when he was close he sagged and put his arms around Joe. They stayed like that for a minute or so before Sam pulled away. He wiped his eyes.

  ‘This won’t find her,’ Sam said. Then his phone beeped.

  Sam reached into his pocket, and his eyes widened when he saw the screen. ‘It’s Alice.’

  He pressed the button and read the message. He looked confused and then put his hand over his mouth. He handed the phone to Joe, who read, Get Hunter and Weaver together. When you get their secret, Alice comes home.

  Joe was confused. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means someone’s got Alice,’ Sam said, and rushed back into the room. He held up his phone for Evans to see. ‘I’ve had a message.’ His agitation was clear in his voice.

  There was a brief moment of optimism on Evans’s part, but it disappeared as soon as she saw the expression on Sam’s face. She read the message and sucked in air. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

&nbs
p; ‘It means we speak to Hunter and Weaver,’ Sam said.

  ‘They’re in the Incident Room,’ Evans said.

  Sam bolted out of the door. Joe followed.

  They had almost got to the Incident Room when Evans caught up with them and put a hand on Sam’s arm.

  ‘What are you going to say?’ she said, panting hard for breath.