The Hangman's Hold

by Michael Wood

  Matilda hadn’t heard a word. She had turned in her seat and was fixed on those eyes and that accent.

  ‘Well, Matilda …?’ Valerie asked.

  ‘Yes. Absolutely. I’m open … to any advice Dr Dalziel can offer,’ she waffled. ‘Would you both excuse me? Call of nature.’

  Matilda charged into the nearest ladies’ toilets she could find and made her way to the furthest stall. She slammed the door closed and sat on the toilet seat lid. She was reminded of the days of her panic attacks when she first returned to work – any slightest upset would set her off.

  She took her iPhone out of her jacket pocket and swiped to unlock it. Touching the photos app she opened a folder containing her fifty favourite pictures of James Darke. They were the photos that made her smile, brought back memories of the good times, and took her to a time when she was last truly happy. When she looked at them now, her eyes filled with tears. There was no denying the fact that James Dalziel was a handsome man. He was tall, well built, and took care of his appearance. The fact he was called James made Matilda wonder if he was some kind of sign. Was her James up there looking down on her, disappointed with the amount of grief and heartache she was carrying around? Was this his way of telling her to get on with her own life, maybe meet someone else?

  ‘I don’t want anybody else,’ she choked.

  She swiped across the screen of her phone – James on the beach on their honeymoon wearing just a pair of shorts. He didn’t have the body of an Olympic gymnast, but he was trim and there was clear definition. He gave a cheeky grin to the camera. The next photo was one of him in their back garden at home standing in three feet of snow. He looked bulky in his winter coat, waterproof trousers and wellington boots. Again, he was smiling directly into the camera as the flakes of snow fell down on him. The next picture was of James in bed. Matilda couldn’t remember when this one was taken, but he looked as if he had recently woken up. His wavy hair was a tangled mess, he was sleepy, warm, and cuddly. Another swipe and there was a cheeky shot Matilda had taken as he stepped out of the shower. He was all wet, glistening, steaming, and naked. Matilda would give up everything in the world if she could spend just one more day in those arms.

  The sound of someone entering the toilets brought Matilda out of her past. She put her phone away, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. As she washed her hands in the sink, she wondered if she would be able to work with James Dalziel.

  Matilda was sitting at her messy desk in her office. James and Christian on the opposite side. A knock on the glass door made Matilda look up. She waved Sian in.

  ‘I thought you’d all like a cup of tea,’ Sian said, carrying a tray of mugs. ‘I didn’t know how you took it, Dr Dalziel, so I’ve brought a few little tubs of milk and sachets of sugar. Would you like anything from the snack drawer?’

  ‘We’re fine thanks, Sian,’ Matilda said before James could reply.

  ‘OK. I’ll leave you in peace then.’ As Sian left, she turned to look at Matilda and with wide eyes she mouthed ‘Oh my God’ and nodded at James. Matilda struggled to stifle a smile.

  ‘So, James, what can you tell us about the killer?’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘A name and address would be handy.’ She smiled.

  James smiled back, and Matilda felt a flutter in her stomach. ‘If I could, I would. I don’t mean to sound disrespectful or callous but, if we had a third victim, I would have more to work on.’

  ‘Fingers crossed he’s stalking one right now,’ Christian said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘Can we confirm if we’re looking for a man?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘Most definitely.’

  ‘Why most definitely?’

  ‘For a start, the majority of serial murderers are male. Also, your suspect will be white. The first two victims are white and serial murderers rarely kill outside their own ethnic group. However, take a closer look at Brian Appleby,’ he said, pulling up a photograph of Brian from the desk. The picture was of Brian hanging from his living-room ceiling. James hadn’t even flinched. ‘He’s well over six-foot tall, he’s a big bloke, and there were no signs of him being drugged. Someone overpowered him. No offence to women, but I can’t see the average woman being able to do this.’

  ‘You’ve obviously not seen Sian when she’s in a mood.’ Christian smiled.

  ‘If it was a woman,’ James continued, ‘she would have had to pounce on him unawares. That kind of makes sense when you see what Brian is wearing. According to the witness statement of Adele Kean, Brian is wearing in the photograph exactly what he was wearing on their date. A woman could have been lying in wait for him to come home, but then where’s the mess? Where’s the evidence of a struggle? The house is perfectly neat and tidy.’

  ‘There was evidence Joe Lacey had put up a struggle,’ Christian said.

  ‘Yes he did. But from the evidence before me, I’m seeing a male-inflicted crime,’ James replied with conviction.

  ‘OK,’ Matilda chimed in, sensing the hostility between both men. ‘We all know that why plus how equals who. We know the how. What about the why?’

  ‘They both had criminal records. They were strung up like they’d been led to the gallows. This smacks of a vigilante,’ Christian said.

  ‘But they’d served their time,’ Matilda commented.

  ‘That’s not always enough for some people,’ James began. ‘You read stories in the newspapers all the time about soft sentencing and judges being out of touch with reality. Maybe he thought Brian Appleby and Joe Lacey hadn’t served long enough.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then it’s going to make the third victim a lot harder to find,’ Matilda said with a sly smile. ‘We didn’t know Brian Appleby was in Sheffield. He was on the sex offender’s register and should have contacted us when he arrived, but he didn’t. Now, who would know who he was?’

  ‘The local police where he lived, his probation officer, his neighbours, and whoever they all talked to. Unfortunately, with the Internet, news spreads like wildfire. Have there been any cases of break-ins with his probation officer, or the police station? Anything going missing?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Matilda said, looking to Christian.

  ‘I’ll check that out.’

  ‘What about the killer as a person?’ Matilda asked. ‘What kind of person are we looking for?’

  ‘Somebody tall, strong, intelligent, quiet.’

  ‘Why quiet?’

  ‘Like you said, nobody knew Brian Appleby was in Sheffield. There is going to have been a lot of research involved to find him. The killer will have been very busy keeping all of this information to himself, and he won’t want to slip up and reveal it until he’s ready. He’s surrounded by people, we all are in this day and age, but he’ll be in the shadows.’

  ‘You’re not making it easier for us to find him.’ Christian laughed.

  ‘Sorry.’ James smiled.

  ‘That description doesn’t match George Appleby, Brian’s son. He has no alibi for the time of both murders. He denies knowing his father was in Sheffield,’ Matilda said.

  ‘If George was going to kill his father, it wouldn’t have been like this,’ James said, pointing at the photographs of the victims. ‘There would either have been a struggle in Brian’s home, or George would have just hit him from behind, struck when he saw the chance. This is not the work of a child killing his disgraced father.’

  ‘So, I can rule George out?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘If he has no alibi, by all means keep your eye on him, but from my point of view, I’d say you can definitely rule him out.’ He smiled.

  Matilda had to turn away. She couldn’t look at that smile or those twinkling eyes without feeling she was betraying her James.

  ‘Why did he text me?’ she asked after a long silence.

  ‘A large number of serial murderers can’t help but involve themselves in the investigation. He’s confident he has done everything right, so you’ll never catch him. He’s contac
ting you to tell you he’s out there. My best guess is that you, Matilda, personally know him.’

  Matilda’s eyes went wide in shock. ‘You think I know the killer?’

  ‘I’d stake my reputation on it.’

  Chapter Twenty

  It was 7 p.m. and it was as black as midnight. Matilda pulled into the car park of Ecclesall Woods. Adele and Chris were already waiting for her. Adele flashed her headlights to identify herself.

  ‘Are we mad, or what?’ Adele said, climbing out slowly from behind the wheel.

  The temperature hadn’t been much above freezing all day. Now darkness had fallen, it was rapidly dropping away and was already two degrees below.

  ‘Of course we’re mad. No sane person would be out at this time of year. Chris, how’s the new job going, still enjoying it?’

  ‘Yes. Some of the kids are a bit scary. I think I know which ones to keep an eye on, but it is going well so far.’

  ‘I’m pleased,’ Matilda beamed. She had known Chris all his life. She had looked after him when Adele was studying to become a pathologist, or if she had been called out. She’d changed his nappy, wiped his face, pushed him on the swings. She was like a second mother to him. She worried for his future almost as much as Adele did.

  ‘Are we just standing around here to see which one of us loses a body part to the cold first, or are we actually going running?’ Adele asked.

  ‘We’re waiting for Scott. Here he is now,’ Matilda said, recognizing the black Peugeot 508.

  Scott parked in the bay in front of Adele and turned off the ignition. Unlike Matilda, Adele, and Chris, Scott leapt out of his car, full of zest and vigour. He was dressed for the occasion – Thermax long-sleeved top and pants, a lightweight fleece and a zipped Gore-Tex over-top.

  ‘Why are you wearing that?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘Because we’re running and it’s cold.’

  Matilda, Adele, and Chris all looked at each other with guilty expressions. They stood in the poorly lit car park in battered trainers, old jogging trousers and coats. Mo Farah would have been horrified.

  ‘You have to look after your body when you’re exercising, especially in extreme weather conditions,’ Scott said.

  ‘We’re running around a park in Sheffield, not trekking the Andes. I’d hardly call this extreme weather conditions,’ Matilda said with a shiver.

  ‘I thought you were serious.’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘OK,’ Adele stepped in. ‘I think we should elect Scott to be our official coach, agreed? He can tell us what to wear, how to run, and what to eat. What do you say?’

  Matilda and Chris both nodded.

  ‘Well you all need someone,’ he said. ‘After this session, I’ll look online and send you all links to what you need to buy. Matilda, you’re going to have to dump those shoes as soon as you get home.’

  It was strange for Matilda to hear a DC call her by her first name. Scott didn’t seem to hesitate or have any qualms about being so familiar.

  ‘What’s wrong with my shoes?’

  Scott raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Scott, this is my son, Chris. He’s an English teacher. Chris, this is Scott. He’s a DC on Matilda’s team.’

  They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Scott offered Chris a spare bandana to keep warm.

  ‘It’s nice seeing co-workers out of office hours, isn’t it?’ Adele said as an aside to Matilda. ‘I always imagine Scott to be quite shy and withdrawn. Look how passionate he is being about running.’

  ‘Down girl, you’re old enough to be his mother.’

  ‘Matilda, don’t be so disgusting, the thought never crossed my mind. Although, if I was twenty years younger …’

  ‘You said you were giving up on men after the whole Brian Appleby episode.’

  ‘I did. That was until I saw Scott’s bum. Just look at it,’ she said as Scott opened the boot of his car and bent inside. ‘I’d gladly sink my teeth into that.’

  ‘Do you have to?’ Matilda said. ‘I have to work with him on a daily basis. I don’t want his bum popping into my head every time I look at him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind his bum popping into my head.’

  ‘You’re a pervert, Adele, do you know that?’ Matilda said, walking off, leaving her best friend standing alone.

  Matilda, Adele, and Chris were ready to set off until Scott called them back to warm up. He laughed when Matilda told them their usual routine – trot around the park chatting until they were knackered, then to the coffee shop for a latte and a chocolate twist.

  They began at a steady pace: Scott and Chris in front with Matilda and Adele behind. Adele was smiling, her eyes focused on Scott’s backside, while Matilda’s mind wandered as she thought about the Joe Lacey murder. Why had the killer chosen to strike on his victim’s son’s fifth birthday? How long had he spent tracking down his victims? Was he, right at this moment, stalking his third, planning everything in the minutest of details?

  Matilda looked around her. Everything was shrouded in darkness, yet she couldn’t help feeling the killer was lurking, watching her.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Adele said, breathlessly.

  ‘Nothing,’ Matilda struggled to reply.

  ‘Yes, you are. You seem distant … pensive.’

  ‘I always … look like this … when I’m running … it’s called … being knackered.’

  Matilda stopped, causing Adele to stop.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I need to ask you something,’ Matilda said, bent over, hands on knees, trying to get her breath back.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Scott called out from further up the path. He’d stopped running but was jogging on the spot.

  ‘Yes. Fine. You two go on ahead,’ Adele said, waving them away.

  ‘After Robson left you,’ Matilda began, referring to Adele’s former partner and Chris’s father, ‘how long before you started thinking about going with another man?’

  Adele blushed, though it could have been the biting wind. ‘A week after he left I slept with the bloke who lived in the flat next door.’

  ‘Oh my God, Adele, you didn’t,’ Matilda couldn’t hide her shock. ‘You never mentioned this before.’

  ‘I’m not proud of what I did, but I was so angry and pissed off. He’d popped round for some reason and we got chatting. The next thing I know we were in bed.’

  ‘Adele Kean, you dirty girl.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Adele quickly asked to change the angle of the subject.

  Matilda took a deep breath. ‘Valerie’s brought in a profiler to help with the Appleby and Lacey murders. Adele, he’s bloody gorgeous. As soon as I looked at him I fancied him.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ she shrugged.

  ‘But James hasn’t been gone two years yet.’

  ‘So. You’re a woman. You have emotions and feelings. It’s perfectly natural to find someone handsome.’

  ‘I didn’t just find him handsome. If I’d been alone with him, I’d have probably jumped him.’

  Adele laughed. ‘And you call me a tart for lusting after Scott’s bum.’

  ‘I don’t want to forget James,’ she said. There was a catch in her throat.

  ‘You won’t forget him. He’s your husband and you love him. It’s about moving on with your life. Isn’t that what we said we’d do this year?’

  ‘Yes,’ Matilda grudgingly admitted.

  ‘There you go then. See what happens with this bloke. If he asks you out for dinner, then go. You don’t need to sleep with him. Take it slowly.’

  ‘True. I’m not you,’ she grinned.

  ‘Cheeky cow.’

  ‘He’s probably married with kids anyway.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Adele smiled.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just … you’ve got a sparkle in your eyes. I
t’s good to see the happy Matilda coming back to the surface.’

  ‘Happy? I don’t think I know the meaning of the word anymore.’

  Chris jogged back over to them. ‘I thought you two were catching us up,’ he said, panting for breath.

  ‘We did. We were running so fast we passed you and you didn’t even notice,’ Matilda said. ‘Come on, let’s go and have a coffee.’ She had suddenly lost interest in training. It didn’t help that the cold wind had chilled her to the bone.

  Scott and Chris set off ahead. Behind, Matilda put her arm around Adele and led her away.

  9 p.m.

  Danny Hanson was shivering with cold. His coat was buttoned up to the collar, his scarf was wrapped several times around his neck and he had his beanie hat pulled down low, yet he was still bloody freezing. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to get the blood circulating and thaw his frozen veins.

  He looked around the bandstand. He was alone in the park, alone in the pitch-dark. He must be absolutely crazy. Weston Park Museum in front of him had been closed for hours. The sound of the busy main road was muffled by his hat. The Children’s Hospital on the opposite side of the road was lit up. It didn’t seem to matter what time of day it was in a hospital, they were always busy, always working.

  He struggled to take his mobile phone out of his inside pocket with his thick woollen gloves on. He squinted at the brightness of the screen. It was almost 9.15. This was obviously a prank, or maybe it was one of his colleagues, jealous that he was getting the lead stories. Danny was about to head off for home when he heard his name being called. He turned around but there was nobody there.

  He stood, staring into the distance, taking in as much of the park as he could in the darkness. He was completely alone, but he was sure he’d heard his name. He let out an audible sigh. This had been a waste of time. He had taken two long strides to the gates when he felt someone approach from behind. His reflexes weren’t fast enough and, whoever it was, had grabbed Danny’s scarf and begun to pull on both ends, tightening it around his neck.