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

by Clare Donoghue

  As he looked at the blackened soot, a thought that had been opaque in Lockyer’s mind came into focus. A name he had heard but dismissed. ‘I’m wondering, sir,’ he said, ‘if I might not have been a bit off in my assumption that the suspect was using the legacy of John Walford as a diversionary tactic.’

  ‘I daren’t ask,’ Atkinson said, squinting his eyes as if to protect himself from whatever liquid atrocity Lockyer was about to dump over his head.

  Lockyer tipped his chin up and looked at the ceiling as each thought shifted into position like the blocks of a puzzle. ‘The MO of Chloe Evans . . . the charcoal on her and Jenkins,’ he said. ‘I figured it was all theatre; something purposefully done but with no real connection to the legends themselves.’

  ‘If you were aiming for obtuse, Lockyer, congratulations,’ Atkinson growled.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ He paused, unsure how to vocalize what he was thinking. ‘I’d assumed the guy we’re looking for was clever . . . manipulative – that he was using the local superstitions surrounding the Quantocks to his advantage. I’ve been reluctant to take any of the talk about legends seriously, other than of course considering their influence on the local community, which can, as you know, have an impact on an investigation.’

  ‘Will you be arriving at a point this side of Christmas, detective?’

  Lockyer felt like he was back at school, justifying why his homework was late again. Although it wasn’t Atkinson he was worried about. It was Hamilton, and the career he held in his hands. ‘Stephanie Lacey said her attacker kept calling her Annie. Anne was the name of the woman John Walford was meant to marry before he got the other one . . . Jane . . . pregnant.’ He stopped short of telling Atkinson his source was an eight-year-old boy. ‘By all accounts, Anne was the love of Walford’s life.’

  ‘Give me strength,’ Atkinson said, holding his hand over his mouth. Lockyer didn’t blame him. He couldn’t believe he was thinking this stuff, let alone saying it out loud, knowing full well Atkinson would no doubt be relaying it to Hamilton within the hour. ‘So we’re dealing with a nut-job.’ Lockyer hesitated to correct him, given what he now thought.

  ‘I think we may well be dealing with someone obsessed with Walford, perhaps determined to walk in his footsteps, yes. I think Chloe was his best attempt,’ Lockyer said. ‘Whereas I think Andrea Jenkins may well have been his first, but he never got to see it through. She was found close to the road. Maybe he got spooked.’ The motivation was madness, but the logic felt undeniable. ‘I think he expected Pippa Jones to stop – to get out of the car. Most people would if they had a shunt, wouldn’t they? But she didn’t. She sped off – so he was forced to chase her and when he hit her, she slammed into that tree. According to the crash investigation guys, the fire started pretty much on impact. A fire is conspicuous. Maybe that’s why he stayed and watched – he was thinking – realizing he couldn’t do what he wanted to do.’ The blocks of the puzzle had melted into bubbles of liquid mercury. They moved and slid together without effort. ‘Stephanie was his next attempt, but she fought him off – she hid. If she hadn’t escaped, I think we’d be looking at a crime scene not unlike that of Chloe Evans.’

  ‘So a nut-job,’ Atkinson said again. ‘Well . . .’ He flattened his mouth. ‘It makes sense. To come into a hospital of this size? To take that risk, the guy would have to be certifiable?’

  ‘And desperate,’ Lockyer said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  15th December – Tuesday

  Jane looked up at the main house, thankful that the sky was clear, at least for the moment. The driveway was on a forty-degree angle, as were the surrounding lawns, not that she could see them. The snow was deep and untouched, like a plump pillow. Peter would love it. It was a perfect toboggan run. ‘That’d be fun,’ she said to Barney, pointing to the snow-covered slope.

  ‘Other than that,’ he said, nodding his head towards a knot of brambles at the bottom of the hill.

  She looked back at the flat. There were no signs of life, and the garage beneath it was locked tight. She turned and ventured over the cattle grid – yet another cattle grid. There wasn’t a gate or walkway, so she had to pick her way over, taking care where she put her feet given the snow was so deep it was almost impossible to tell the difference between the bars and the gaps in between. She looked to her right. The perimeter of the garden was marked out by a thick hedge, though as Barney had pointed out, it was more bramble than hedge, weighed down by great mounds of snow. It was a beautiful property, even if the style was a bit dated.

  ‘Let’s go up,’ she said. ‘It looks like someone’s here.’ The tyre tracks in the snow had to be recent – today, even. Any earlier and the snow would have covered them. Barney grunted as he lost his footing. ‘And I thought I was the clumsy one,’ she said.

  ‘It’s ice under there,’ he said, reaching out to her.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding. If you go down, you’re on your own,’ she said as he arrived behind her with a thump, holding his arms out to steady himself. She had to resist the urge to laugh and remind herself that this wasn’t a jolly. They were isolated up here. The private lane that led up to the property was over a mile long; a post box jutting out of a hedge the only sign of civilization. There was no way her car would have made it up here.

  They walked up the driveway in silence. Jane wondered if it had occurred to Barney, as it had to her, that they could be walking towards someone very dangerous. She felt her pulse flicker but then swallowed, telling herself to get a grip. How many routine vehicle checks had she done over the years? Two dozen, three? As Lockyer had pointed out, the likelihood that a quick DVLA search had turned up the Land Rover they were looking for was minimal. Besides, Townsend would be here any minute. Between him and Barney, she figured she was safer than most. She sniffed and rooted around in her coat pocket for a tissue.

  ‘I can’t believe you don’t know who owns this place,’ she said, wiping the end of her nose.

  ‘I don’t know everything . . . or everyone, Jane,’ he said.

  ‘Could’ve fooled me,’ she said, giving him a sideways glance but keeping her main focus on where her feet were. She did not want to end up on her arse – again.

  ‘This is not the car you are looking for,’ he said, putting on the voice of Obi-Wan in Star Wars. Jane craned her neck to see what he was looking at, the cold wind chilling her skin as it found its way down her back.

  It was a red Fiat Panda, and judging by the slalom-shaped tracks leading up to it, the driver had struggled to get it under the car port at the side of the house. The front bumper was resting against a substantial log pile. ‘How did they get that up this hill?’ She had struggled on a flat road.

  ‘With a bit of a run and experience, it’s not hard,’ he said. ‘The trick is not to brake or try and turn – just let the tyres do the work. They’re designed to cope with this kind of road surface.’

  ‘I feel like I’ve just stumbled into an episode of Top Gear,’ she said, ‘and you should know, I don’t like Top Gear.’ Barney smiled, his wind-burnt cheeks squishing his eyes into slits.

  As they reached the rear of the car Jane held up her hand. Despite Barney being three times her size, it wasn’t his job to put himself in danger, and she had no intention of letting him do so. ‘Just hang back here, OK? I won’t be a second.’ She looked over her shoulder at Barney. His eyes flickered. It was as if she could see his brain working – figuring out how long it would take him to get to her if there was any trouble. He widened his stance and crossed his arms.

  ‘I’ll be just here,’ he said.

  ‘No shit,’ she hissed, ringing the bell.

  Lockyer tried again, but the call still wouldn’t connect. He held up his phone, staring at the bars in the classic signal search position. ‘I’ve got full signal,’ he said to the phone and anyone passing who might be wondering why he was holding it aloft like Excalibur. ‘Oh come on, you piece of shit.’ He looked out the window as the snow fell, heavy an
d thick. No doubt it would be heading Jane’s way if it wasn’t there already. The roads would be a nightmare. Of course, Wonder Boy was with her, but still. Lockyer wanted her off the hills before it was dark – darker than it was already. The moon might not be high, but the sun was gone for sure.

  He pocketed his phone and walked down the corridor, keeping his eyes lowered. The press didn’t know him here, but he wanted to make sure he looked as un-cop-like as possible. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slowed his pace. As he passed the nurses’ station he could feel the hospital staff looking at him. He clenched his jaw. Let them look. This was as much their fault as it was his. He had passed through several security doors on his way up to Stephanie’s room. Not one had been shut. No one had stopped him, asked where he was going. And what was the point in having cameras if they covered everywhere but where they were needed? He crossed the hallway and took the main stairs two at a time. He needed caffeine. His head was about ready to explode.

  ‘DI Lockyer,’ a voice called from behind him.

  He cringed at the volume of her voice. ‘So much for keeping a low profile,’ he muttered as he turned, pasting a smile onto his face. One of the nurses who had been looking after Stephanie Lacey was half walking, half running to catch up with him, her keys jangling in the pocket of her dress.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, seeming to realize her mistake. ‘I didn’t mean to shout.’

  He waved away her apology. ‘It’s fine. What can I do for you . . . ?’ If he knew her name, his brain wasn’t delivering it up, so he shut his mouth.

  ‘It’s Janice,’ she said as she did a weird little bob, almost like a curtsey.

  ‘Janice,’ he repeated.

  ‘I just wanted to apologize for not letting your boss in before,’ she said, her cheeks turning the colour of ripe tomatoes. ‘I didn’t know who he was – he didn’t have ID, so I just . . .’ She trailed off. She looked mortified. ‘I mean, given what’s happened I’m glad I didn’t now. I’d have lost my job for sure, but you know how it is. They’re always going on at us to be vigilant. I’ve got a review coming up. They send people in – like secret shoppers to test us. I figured it’d be just like management to send in someone posing as a copper to prove we weren’t up to the job when it came to security. I just felt so embarrassed.’

  Lockyer held up both hands, hoping to stem the torrent. ‘You’re apologizing to the wrong guy,’ he said. ‘My boss is upstairs. Superintendent Atkinson.’

  ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I knew who he was. He showed me his warrant card without me even having to ask. Even the Pope’d have a hard time getting in this place now.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Lockyer said, pulling at his ear like a kid with toothache. He was beginning to wonder if the pain in his head might not be caffeine withdrawal. Cassie Jones and her phantom stalker had thwarted his earlier efforts to reboot, and now Nurse What’s-her-name was doing it as well. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Your boss,’ she said again, leaning on the word like she was angry with it. ‘You’d gone tearing off wherever it was – I saw you running out in the car park.’ She held out her hand as if she were carrying a tray. ‘You ran off. I’d been on lunch. He said he was there to replace you.’

  ‘Replace me?’

  ‘You know,’ she said, now waving both hands, ‘take over. He said he was taking over from you . . . like a shift, I’d guess.’

  ‘I’m sorry, who was this?’

  ‘Err, I forget. It was . . . Downton . . . Town . . .’

  ‘Townsend?’

  ‘That’s it,’ she said, the relief evident on her face. ‘Detective Inspector Townsend.’

  ‘But you didn’t let him in? When was this?’ he asked, unsure if Atkinson would be pleased Townsend had a good excuse for not being at the hospital, or angrier still that he had turned up without his ID.

  ‘Not long after you left – I mean, right after. I’m surprised you didn’t see each other,’ she said, nodding her head with such gusto that strands of hair were coming loose from her ponytail. ‘Like I said, he didn’t have his warrant thingy with him, so I said no . . . you know, the computer says no.’ She laughed. Lockyer felt like he had missed the joke. ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to pass on my apologies and . . .’ Her cheeks, which had up until now been pink, lost their colour. ‘You don’t think . . . Was this my fault?’ He was alarmed to see tears in her eyes. What was it with him and crying women? Did he attract them somehow? ‘If I’d let him in, then someone would have been with her, wouldn’t they? She wouldn’t have been on her own and she wouldn’t have got hurt.’ A tear spilt out onto her cheek.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said, although she made a good point. If she had let Townsend in, Stephanie Lacey might not have been attacked for the second time. ‘You did the right thing. DI Townsend would agree with me. Don’t worry. Listen, I’ve got to go. I need to make a phone call.’ He held up his phone as if he needed proof. He started walking backwards. ‘Thanks again. You did the right thing.’ He turned and headed for the exit. He would speak to Jane first. Coffee second.

  When the door opened, Jane had to do a double take. Her mind stumbled for a second. ‘Claudette?’ she said, turning and looking back at the car and then Barney. ‘Do you know, I thought your car looked familiar.’

  ‘It’s Sergeant Bennett, isn’t it?’ she said, opening the door wider.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jane said. ‘How’s Cassie doing?’

  Claudette looked around Jane. ‘Hey, Barney.’ She raised her hand. ‘She’s fine,’ she said, turning back to Jane. ‘She’s all tucked up by the fire. Maureen is making a big fuss of her.’

  ‘Hi, Claud,’ Barney said, coming to stand next to Jane. He looked almost as bemused as Jane felt. ‘You look nice.’

  ‘Christmas drinks at the Hendersons’,’ Claudette said, cupping her bobbed hair before smoothing down her dress. ‘Not had time to change, what with Cassie and everything.’ Barney nodded.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jane said, feeling like she was missing something. ‘I’m confused. What are you doing here? I mean, is this your house? I didn’t realize . . .’ The cottage in Nether Stowey was cute and cosy, but there’s no way Jane would take it over this place.

  Claudette laughed. ‘I wish,’ she said with a raise of her eyebrows. ‘No. I’m just up here turning the heating on. Barbara’s a client of mine. She’s away in the States at the moment . . . lucky bugger. She was worried the pipes might freeze in this weather.’

  ‘Barbara?’ Jane asked, taking her notepad out of her inside jacket pocket and pulling off her gloves with her teeth. ‘Do you know her surname?’

  ‘Downs,’ Claudette said. ‘This is her place. Hers and her partner’s . . . Allison . . . I don’t know her last name.’

  ‘Do they own it, do you know?’

  Claudette was shaking her head. ‘They wish,’ she said with a smile. ‘They’re renting. They’ve been here about a year now, I’d guess.’

  ‘Do you know the owner, by any chance?’ Jane asked. ‘Surname Rice?’

  Claudette’s mouth pulled up to one side. ‘Mmm, the name doesn’t ring a bell,’ she said, ‘but then, I’ve always been hopeless with names. I’ve only been up here once before when I was feeding their cat.’ Jane looked down, half expecting to see a cat winding itself around Claudette’s legs. ‘It died,’ Claudette said then, when Jane looked at her. ‘Not on my watch, I hasten to add.’

  ‘Does the flat come with the house, do you know?’

  ‘No clue,’ Claudette said. ‘She’s a potter on the side, so maybe she uses it as her studio?’ Her expression changed. ‘Bugger, do you think maybe I’m meant to put the heating on down there as well? I never even thought of that.’

  ‘Have you got keys?’ Jane asked, hopeful now that the drive up here wouldn’t have been a total waste of time.

  ‘To the flat? I don’t know,’ Claudette said, ‘but Barb’s got more keys than she knows what to do with in here. Do you want me to see what I can dig out? I’m sure
Barbara wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I couldn’t use the bog, could I?’ Barney asked, giving Jane an apologetic grimace when she gave him a disapproving look. ‘Unless,’ he said, ‘you’d prefer me to go in the hedge?’

  ‘I’m here to sort the heating, not water the plants, Barney,’ Claudette said, reaching out and pulling him inside. ‘It’s at the end of the hall opposite the kitchen.’ He turned to leave. ‘Shoes, Barney,’ she added, gesturing at the thick baby-pink carpet. ‘And take that jacket off while you’re at it. You’ll soak the place otherwise.’ She turned to Jane. ‘Let me find those keys.’ She disappeared off down the hallway.

  ‘You couldn’t hold it?’ Jane said when Claudette had gone.

  Barney perched on the edge of a radiator as he bent double and started to unlace his boots. The military needed to get with the times and convert to something more time-efficient, like Velcro. ‘It’s not good for guys to hold it,’ he said, looking up at her under his long dark eyelashes. He pulled off one boot before using that foot to work the other boot free. He stood up, unzipping his coat and fleece in one go.

  ‘Here we are,’ Claudette said, shaking a bundle of keys in her hand. ‘There’s a truckload back there, but this bunch looks promising to me.’ She held out a bundle of keys and plastic labels. ‘We’ve got flat, garage, back door, front door . . . you name it, there’s a key for it.’

  ‘Great,’ Jane said, reaching out to take the proffered keys.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Claudette said, pulling a coat off a hook by the door. Barney shrugged out of his jacket. He was wearing a T-shirt, his arms thick and tanned. Jane could feel a blush starting at the base of her neck, but then something stopped the heat in its tracks. ‘The door’s on the latch, Barney,’ Claudette said, ‘so just pull it to, keep the heat in and we’ll see you down there?’ She was out the door, taking Jane in her wake as she filled the air with clouds from her breath and an endless stream of chit-chat.

  Jane felt like she had been punched in the stomach. He had lied to her. Barney had lied to her.