The Night Stalker (Detective Jane Bennett and Mike Lockyer series Book 4)

by Clare Donoghue

  ‘I’m sure,’ Townsend said, his voice thick with disdain.

  Lockyer decided to let the dig go – for now. ‘Anyway, Barney was telling Jane about the local legends – Dead Woman’s Ditch, et cetera?’

  ‘I wouldn’t believe everything you hear from Barney – or the locals, for that matter,’ Townsend said with a snort. ‘In my experience they will say and do whatever’s necessary to maintain the status quo. They protect their own.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The Evans case,’ Townsend said with a heavy sigh. ‘I’m sure you have cases you’d rather not . . . revisit. Well, the Evans case is mine.’

  ‘What happened?’ Lockyer asked, raising a hand to the two guys in the passing AONB truck. Both looked to be a regular size, so he assumed neither was Jane’s BFG.

  There was a pause before Townsend spoke. ‘I was dragged down from Bristol and thrown in at the deep end,’ he said. ‘The DI was pregnant – Atkinson felt it was inappropriate for her to handle the case.’ He made a harrumphing noise. ‘I had zero cooperation from the team. They were kicking off because Waters had been taken off the case – against her wishes, I gathered. Like it was my fault? Like I had anything to do with it? As for the locals . . . the people who knew Chloe, who supposedly cared for her – they were belligerent, secretive and downright obstructive. By all accounts they had sat back and watched this girl go off the rails and done nothing.’ He was breathing hard. ‘She was murdered on their doorstep and they were far too busy spewing nonsense about legends and superstitions to care.’

  ‘Why, Bill?’ Lockyer asked. ‘And why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because they could,’ Townsend said. ‘Because they were protecting one of their own, that’s why.’

  ‘Who . . . ?’

  ‘And why on earth would I tell you about it?’ Townsend said. ‘Chloe Evans’s murder was six months ago. It has no bearing on the Pippa Jones case . . . legends and superstitions, even less so.’

  ‘This ditch place – where Evans was found – it’s less than half a mile from the crash site, Bill,’ Lockyer said, looking in his rear-view mirror at the cattle grid and the tree where Pippa Jones’s journey had ended. Again he heard the tinny voice of an announcement in the background.

  ‘Look, Mike,’ Townsend said, ‘I really don’t have time for this. You’ll have to trust me. One has absolutely nothing to do with the other.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because I know who killed Chloe Evans.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  12th December – Saturday

  Steph rinsed the basin again and again. It was clean. There wasn’t a trace of soap or hair, or anything. She was stalling.

  ‘Come on, Stephanie,’ Connie said. ‘Don’t you have a home to go to?’

  She turned off the tap and looped the shower attachment around her hand several times before dumping the coil in the basin. ‘Didn’t you want me to get the towels out of the dryer?’ She looked up when she heard her boss laughing.

  ‘Talk about a transformation,’ Connie said, dragging a piece of tinsel out of her ponytail. She had made all the girls wear a different colour to give the salon a festive feel. Steph’s was green. She had it tied around her neck like a choker. ‘You’ve done more than enough today. You should have been off two hours ago. It’s quarter to five.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘Save anyone having to worry about it. The girls are going out for drinks over at the Quay tomorrow night for Paula’s eighteenth. They’ll be hanging come Monday morning.’

  Connie chewed the edge of her lip. ‘That’s true. Paula is the worst when she’s got a hangover,’ she said before looking at her watch. ‘Trouble is, I’m meeting Archie in Sainsbury’s car park in a sec. We’re heading up to Cribbs for a bit of late-night shopping. If I’m much later, he’ll just be sat there . . .’

  ‘You go. I can lock up,’ Steph said, her heart leaping in her chest. She saw a frown wrinkle Connie’s forehead. ‘Stacey showed me how the other day.’

  ‘I’m not sure . . . the snow’s getting pretty heavy out there. I don’t want you getting stranded . . .’

  ‘Please, Connie,’ Steph said, trying not to whine. ‘I really want to prove to you I’ve changed – that things have changed. I can do this.’ She could see by her boss’s expression that she was softening. ‘I think the responsibility would be good for me, don’t you?’

  Connie nodded, her mouth turning down at the edges, as if she was weighing up her options. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You show me you know what you’re doing and you’ve got a deal . . . and you text me the second you get home, OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ Steph said, feeling elated – feeling relieved. The longer she could stay in the salon, the better. More time here meant less time out there. She didn’t care about the snow. It could snow all night for all she cared.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Connie said. ‘Here are the keys. This is my spare set so don’t, for God’s sake, lose them. Now show me what needs doing.’

  Steph had to stop herself from snatching the bundle of keys. She turned on her heel and went to the alarm panel at the back of the salon. She opened the clear plastic cover and looked over her shoulder at Connie. ‘I press 1, 8, 8, 1 and then the A for away. There’ll be a long beep. I have thirty seconds to get to the front door, go outside and lock it.’ She rushed on before Connie could raise any doubts. ‘If I needed to come back in, for whatever reason, I unlock the door and again I’ve got thirty seconds to get to the panel. There’s a long beep. I press 1, 8, 8, 1 and C for cancel. There’ll be three quick beeps and then it’s unset.’

  ‘And you need to—’

  ‘I know,’ she said, interrupting. ‘I need to switch off the main lights, unplug the tree lights and the display in the window. Make sure the dryers are off, unplug the straighteners and make sure all the internal doors, like the toilet door, are shut tight.’

  Connie chuckled. ‘Are you sure you don’t have a twin?’ she asked. ‘You’re certainly not the same girl I had working here, or rather not working here, last week.’

  Steph forced herself to smile. ‘I really want to do this, Connie.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Connie said. ‘Sort the towels and if you want to you can set up for tomorrow, but then home, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Connie. I won’t let you down.’

  It looked like her boss was going to say something else, but instead she gave Steph a quick hug and then turned to leave. ‘See you . . . Tuesday, is it?’ she said.

  Steph nodded. ‘In the afternoon, yes,’ she said, already dreading it. ‘Say hi to Archie.’

  ‘Will do.’

  As soon as Steph heard the bell jingle and the door to the salon close, she collapsed into one of the chairs by the basins. She had gone beyond tired. Every bone, fibre and tendon of her ached from hours of worrying. Last night had been all right in the end. Her dad had relented and not only dropped her at work, but picked her up too. The downside to his generosity was that it meant he wasn’t working today, so she was on her own. She had to drive in and she had to drive home and, of course, it was dark. When she had gone to bed last night she had lain there fully clothed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the girl she had seen in the paper. Local woman dies in hit and run. Ten hours later she was still staring at the same fleck of paint on the ceiling. Hit and run. Those three words had stopped Steph’s breath. She had read them over and over. The police were investigating. Anyone with any information should come forward, it said. According to Paula, whose sister was dating one of the response team over in Bridgwater nick, the car had been rammed off the road – on purpose.

  The sound of a car racing past outside startled her. She looked around the salon. She was surrounded by decorations and lights. At least the endless Christmas music had stopped. If she had to listen to Slade screaming ‘It’s Christmas’ one more time, she thought she would go mad. She looked at the sofa in the window. She could move it, drag it back here.
No one would know if she slept here. No one would care. All she had to do was phone her parents and say she was staying with Stacey or Paula. She felt her cheeks heat and tears prick in her eyes as the realization hit her. She had her mother’s house keys. She had to go home. Her tears felt hot against her cheeks.

  Anyone with information should come forward.

  She shook her head, pushing away the tears on her cheeks. What was happening to her was different. Someone was just trying to mess with her head, to scare her. Hit and run. It might even be one of the boys having a laugh. Whatever had happened to that girl, Steph was different. Why would anyone want to hurt her?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  12th December – Saturday

  Jane’s hand was on the latch of the Joneses’ front door when it swung inwards, connecting with her knee. She sucked in a breath.

  ‘Hey, sorry I’m late,’ Lockyer said, ducking his head as he stepped over the threshold, forcing her to step back, unaware of the pain he had caused. His head and shoulders were peppered with snow. ‘Mills took an age and then I got stuck on the phone with Townsend.’ She opened her mouth, keen to find out where the guy had been all day, but Lockyer held up his hand. ‘Don’t ask.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it over his arm, covering her with a fine spray in the process. ‘I parked at the top end of the village,’ he said, stamping his feet on the doormat. ‘It’s really coming down. Didn’t want to end up stuck out here.’

  She craned her neck to look outside. The road was covered with about an inch of unbroken snow. ‘Shit, I didn’t realize it’d started again,’ she said. ‘Should I move mine, do you think?’

  ‘Nah, I wouldn’t worry,’ he said, sniffing and rubbing his hands together. ‘I’ll get it out if need be.’

  ‘Me man, me move car in all weathers,’ she said in her best caveman voice.

  ‘That’s about the size of it,’ he said, pulling a face. ‘So what’s been happening with you? How are the chuckle brothers?’

  ‘Better,’ she said. ‘I’ve managed to get whole sentences out of them. What’s happening with Townsend? Where’s he been today?’

  ‘I never established that,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’ His expression changed. ‘Is Megan here?’

  ‘No,’ she said, lowering her voice and moving closer. ‘She and Aaron went to the supermarket. They’ll be back later.’

  ‘You saw them?’

  She nodded. ‘Only briefly. They were on their way out when I arrived.’ He ran his tongue along his bottom teeth. ‘What?’

  He shook his head for a long time before he spoke. ‘I hate that she’s here with him,’ he said. ‘And before you say it, I know this isn’t Aaron’s fault, and yes . . .’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I know he’s a good lad and all that, but still – the association – having Megs this close to a violent death . . . again. It’s driving me nuts, if you want to know the truth.’

  She put her hand on his arm and waited for him to stop chewing his cheek and look at her. ‘She’s fine, Mike. She knew you were coming, so she made herself scarce. She understands this situation isn’t . . . ideal.’

  ‘She spoke to you?’ He looked hurt.

  ‘We had a five-minute chat before they left, if that,’ she said. ‘From what the vicar tells me she’s been a whirling dervish, taking care of them all. You’ve done a great job. She’s a very mature, caring young woman.’

  He snorted. ‘Not sure I can take credit for that.’ He took a deep breath, shaking his shoulders as he blew it out. ‘Anyway, enough of my crap. How are the Joneses?’

  She paused, thinking of the best way to describe them. ‘I’d say they’re an enigmatic bunch, circumstances aside.’ She held up her fingers to count off the Jones family. ‘We’ve got Reverend Anthony Jones. He hasn’t moved from his seat by the fire but he’s quick to chime in on other conversations – a passive patriarch. Abbott’s been talking to him. He’ll update us when we get back to the station.’ Lockyer rolled his hands, one over the other. He had a cheek, given he was the one who had rocked up late. ‘Pimbley has been talking to the twins’ sister, Cassie Jones. She flew back from Australia the week before it happened but hadn’t been down because she was visiting friends in London.’

  ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘So she was in the Country but never saw her sister before the accident?’

  She shook her head. ‘No . . .’

  ‘God, that can’t feel good. How’s she handling it?’ he asked with what seemed like genuine sympathy.

  ‘I’m not sure she feels much,’ Jane said, stepping back and up onto the bottom stair. Her neck was aching from looking up at him. ‘I asked her plans . . . you know, is her work being good about the time off and the delay getting back to Oz, that kind of thing?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Her boss told her to take all the time she needs,’ she said, pausing to ensure she had his full attention. ‘So she’s planning on using that time to fly off to the States before Christmas so she can visit friends out there.’ She was satisfied when she saw his expression. He was as shocked as she had been.

  ‘That’s cold,’ he said. ‘Any clues as to why?’

  She conjured an image of Cassie Jones. Despite the tan and golden hair, there was no warmth to the woman. ‘Not sure. There’s a definite distance between her and the family, though, and maybe even an underlying animosity towards Pippa, but I wouldn’t swear to that.’

  ‘Survivor’s guilt?’

  ‘Could be.’ Jane pursed her lips. ‘She’d have been a teenager when Pippa and Aaron were born. I’d imagine she did her fair share of childcare. The mother’s pretty dedicated to her husband . . . and the church. That could have built up some resentment.’

  ‘What about the mother? What’s she like?’

  ‘Maureen Jones,’ Jane said, taking one foot off the stair and bouncing her heel against the mauve runner. ‘I’ve been talking to her. She’s pretty reserved, like her husband, but I’d say she’s more detached. She looked the part, if you know what I mean. If she feels the distance with her eldest daughter, she doesn’t show it, and neither parent had spoken to Pippa in several weeks due to a falling out.’

  Lockyer’s eyebrows shot up in a question.

  ‘They’d been helping her with her rent for her flat-share in London so she didn’t lose it, but they had ended up paying the lion’s share because Pippa said she didn’t have any money. The aunt, Claudette Barker – Maureen’s sister – told Maureen that Pippa was in fact out a lot, a bit disrespectful and wasn’t contributing to her house funds either. So, to cut a long story short, there was a row and the parents stopped paying at the beginning of last month.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Lockyer said.

  She sighed. ‘I’m not sure it is. You’ll appreciate how benign they are when you meet them.’

  He shrugged. ‘OK, what else?’

  ‘This is the family home,’ she said. ‘Anthony Jones was offered a . . . vicar-ship, or whatever it’s called, when Aaron and Pippa were twelve, and so the family relocated to London. Cassie had already flown the nest. Father, Aaron and Pippa love the city – Maureen hates it, and wants to be back here.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice again. ‘Her sister Claudette has been living here since her divorce . . . a messy business, by the sounds of it. His family didn’t approve. Some religious differences or something, but I’ll tell you about that in a second. I think, reading between the lines, that Maureen finds it hard being here because she still sees this place as her home. Cassie has made a few comments about it not being her house, as if maybe it should have been.’ She shrugged. ‘You know how families are. There’s always more under the surface than on it.’

  He looked at her like she had just landed from another planet. ‘Well, that is fascinating,’ he said in a mocking whisper, ‘I’ll have to tune in next week to find out what happens next.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘They’re not the Archers, Jane.’

  ‘All right, all right, I was just sayin
g.’ She felt peeved to be ridiculed, but he had a point. Why was she wasting her time and his with family gossip, when she had far more important information to give him? ‘The person I really wanted to talk to you about was Claudette Barker, the aunt. You’ll never guess who her ex-husband—’ Before she could finish, the door to the lounge opened.

  ‘Everything all right out here?’ Cassie Jones said, beckoning Jane and Lockyer into the room, sweeping her hair over one shoulder as she pulled the door wide. Jane couldn’t help but feel envious, which was obscene given the circumstances. She hated her own hair. It was the colour of watered-down tar, her fringe an unmitigated disaster. Cassie’s hair, on the other hand, was the colour of sand on a tropical beach. She looked more Swedish than British. In fact, seeing her again, Jane realized she looked just like the girl in the Timotei adverts from when she was a kid. ‘All we can hear is you two whispering,’ Cassie said, screwing up her face. ‘Pss wss wss wss.’

  Jane stepped down from the stairs. ‘Sorry,’ she said, gesturing for Lockyer to go first. ‘This is Cassie Jones, Pippa and Aaron’s sister.’

  ‘Good afternoon. I’m Detective Inspector Lockyer,’ he said, ducking his head as he entered the room.

  Maureen Jones appeared from behind her daughter. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Please come in. I was just about to make a pot of tea.’

  ‘Thank you, Maureen,’ Jane said. ‘This is DI Lockyer.’

  ‘So you’re DI Lockyer,’ Cassie said. ‘My brother has told me a lot about you.’ The look she gave him told Jane none of the things Aaron had said were complimentary.

  ‘Right,’ he said, extending his hand. Cassie turned away as if she hadn’t seen the offer and went and sat down on the arm of the sofa, crossing her long legs, one foot swinging. Maureen Jones, in contrast, was moving in a slow circle, asking in a quiet voice who wanted tea, who wanted coffee and did anyone take sugar. She didn’t appear to be focused on the answers, just asking the questions, over and over.