by Michael Wood
He could sense a change the second he stepped into the hallway. There was a smell he couldn’t put his finger on. Items were missing or had been moved. It was like walking into a stranger’s house.
In the living room, Matilda Darke stood waiting for him. She offered him a sympathetic smile that he didn’t return. She told him to sit down but it didn’t seem to register. His face was fixed in a horrified expression. Sian had to guide him to the sofa.
‘Mr Reaney, I’m afraid I have some bad news,’ Matilda began as she sat down on the armchair next to him.
That seemed to be the trigger. Tears fell from his eyes without warning. He knew what was coming.
‘We found your wife dead this morning, Mr Reaney. We had to break in. She was hanging in the hallway.’
The effect of Matilda’s words was evident by his collapse. It was as if his spine had been torn from his body as he slumped into the sofa with a sound Matilda had heard only once before – she had made a similar noise when her husband took his final breath.
‘Hanging?’ Andy managed to say through the tears. ‘No. She wouldn’t … she wouldn’t … we’re happy …’
‘Mr Reaney, we don’t believe Katie took her own life. We believe she was killed,’ Matilda said slowly so Andy could take it all in.
It didn’t work. Matilda’s words made no sense to him at all.
There was a gentle knock on the living room door. It opened, and Scott popped his head through the small gap.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ve found something. You really need to see this.’
Sian nodded for Matilda to go. She stood up and looked down at the wreck of a man whose life she had just ruined.
‘Scott, I have never been more pleased to be interrupted in my life,’ Matilda said with relief once she was out in the hallway. She leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath.
‘What have you found?’
‘It’s upstairs.’
As they went upstairs, Matilda looked at the photographs on the wall of a young family enjoying life together. Grinning children and smiling parents – days out in the park, at the beach, celebrating Christmas. This was how life was meant to be. Why had someone felt the need to destroy it all?
Scott led Matilda into the master bedroom where Rory and Aaron were waiting. It was tastefully decorated in pastel colours. The large bed looked comfortable. The floor was polished with an expensive rug in the middle.
‘There’s a loose floorboard,’ Aaron said. ‘We prised it open and found this.’
Wearing latex gloves, Aaron handed Matilda a padded envelope. She fished some gloves out of her back pocket and struggled to put them on sweaty hands. Lifting the flap of the envelope, she pulled out a stack of papers and newspaper clippings.
‘What is all this?’ she asked, flicking through them.
‘It’s Katie Reaney. Her real name is Naomi Parish,’ Aaron said.
‘Remind me.’
‘In 1998, when Katie – Naomi – was just eleven years old, she murdered one-year-old Alistair Macintosh.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
The briefing room was packed to capacity, and the atmosphere was heavy and sombre. A woman who had killed at the age of eleven had changed her name and identity to live a quiet and peaceful life below the radar. She had succeeded in never drawing attention to herself. She had a menial job and kept her social life to a minimum. Yet someone had found her. Someone had gone to great lengths to identify her, track her down, and execute her. This was an intelligent killer who would stop at nothing to make his chosen victims pay for their crimes. Suddenly, the game had been raised. Every person in the briefing room knew this killer was virtually unstoppable.
Matilda explained who, on the surface, Katie Reaney was. She then handed over to Sian to fill in the gaps on her past.
‘Katie Reaney was born Naomi Parish in 1987. She lived in Hastings, in Kent, on the south coast. In 1998, when she was eleven years old, she was babysitting one-year-old Alistair Macintosh when she shook him to death.’ Silence gripped the room, and Sian paused.
On the whiteboard was a photograph of a smiling Katie Reaney. Her husband had told them it had been taken on New Year’s Eve last year. She was dressed up for a night out, freshly dyed blonde hair perfectly styled, make-up understated yet glamorous, and she smiled into the centre of the camera, showing off her dazzling white teeth. She looked happy, content with the world. Behind the sparkling eyes was the soul of a child killer. Had she managed to put her past behind her, forget all about her crime, or was she simply a very talented actress?
Sian continued. ‘Her defence was that Alistair wouldn’t stop crying, and she was trying to get him to go to sleep. However, in a statement from Alistair’s mother, he wasn’t a crying baby. He rarely made a noise and was a peaceful sleeper. He wasn’t ill, didn’t have a cold or anything, so there was no reason why he would have been crying to the extent Naomi said he was. The jury took less than one hour to find her guilty of murder.’
‘What was she sentenced to?’ Faith asked without looking up from her desk.
‘She was sentenced to life in prison to serve a minimum of seven years. She was released in 2005 from a Young Offenders Institute in Birmingham and refused lifelong anonymity by the Home Office. Now, according to the paperwork found by Aaron in Katie’s bedroom, she changed her name by deed poll in 2008 to Katie Simpson. She met Andy Reaney in 2010 and they married within the year, when she became Katie Reaney.’
‘So there we have it,’ Matilda said, standing up. ‘Naomi Parish became Katie Simpson who became Katie Reaney. What we need to find out is who the hell knew?’
‘Did she tell her husband any of this?’
‘Andy isn’t in a fit state to be fully interviewed at the moment,’ Christian Brady said. ‘He’s told us the bare bones of their life together, and he hasn’t mentioned anything about her past. He either doesn’t know, or he’s protecting her.’
‘Christian, I want you and Sian to interview him when he’s ready. If he really doesn’t know, then you’ll need to break it to him,’ Matilda said.
‘Is the husband a likely suspect?’ Faith asked.
‘No. He was in Ripon last night and didn’t leave until after eight o’clock this morning,’ Scott said flicking through his notebook. ‘I’ve already called Andy’s parents and they’ve confirmed this.’
‘Thank you, Scott.’
‘So, who is a suspect then?’
‘Someone with a great deal of time on their hands,’ Rory said. ‘I’ve been online and there’s no mention of Katie Reaney anywhere. She’s not on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or any of the other social networking sites.’
‘Hardly surprising really, if she’s wanting to live in the shadows,’ Scott said.
‘Naomi Parish is all over the Internet. There’s articles about the court case and being sentenced, even when she was released. After that, nothing. There is no way Naomi Parish and Katie Reaney can be linked just by looking online,’ Rory said.
‘What about photographs of Naomi Parish? Can you see a resemblance between Naomi the child and Katie the adult?’ Sian asked.
‘No,’ Rory answered. ‘She was quite a chubby child, and she’s got dark brown hair. Katie is slim with dyed blonde hair. It seems like she went to great lengths to avoid any connection to her former life.’
‘So it’s somebody with access to more sophisticated files,’ Matilda said. ‘Sian, throw us a Mars bar, will you?’ Scott cleared his throat, and Matilda looked up at him. ‘Actually, don’t bother. I’ve got a high-energy protein bar in my desk.’
‘Should we contact the parents of Alistair Macintosh?’ Faith asked.
‘I think so. Sian, can you deal with that?’
Faith rolled her eyes but quickly turned away when she saw Matilda had noticed.
‘We need to know who was in Katie’s life, who trusted her,’ Christian said. ‘What about that housebound neighbour, Debbie?’
<
br /> ‘They’ve been friends since college,’ Scott said. ‘They were on the same night school course. Debbie missed most of her education due to being in hospital. She took A-levels at night school, as did Katie when she was released from prison.’
‘Could Katie have confided in Debbie?’
‘We didn’t go into too many details about Katie’s past, I didn’t know myself then, but she just said Katie was a lovely, quiet woman who lived for her husband and children.’
‘She’s going to need interviewing again too. Right,’ Matilda said going over to the whiteboards. ‘The one connection two of our victims have is probation officers. Katie Reaney and Brian Appleby will both have had probation officers. I want them identified. I want their alibis for all the murders. Christian!’
‘Leave it with me.’
Matilda ran her fingers through her hair; they came away feeling greasy. ‘I want statements from neighbours, colleagues and family members. How close were Katie and Andy? Don’t reveal Katie’s past to anyone. This is where we have the upper hand over the press. The only people who know are us and the killer. I know we’ve found out the killer is giving information to Danny Hanson, but if I do find out anyone in here has been talking, I will hang you myself. Understand?’
She left the question unanswered and strode from the briefing room, slamming the door behind her.
On her way to the ACC’s office for another meeting with Valerie, and James Dalziel, Matilda dug out her phone and searched for a number. She hoped it was still the right one. It rang and was still ringing when Matilda arrived at Valerie’s office. Eventually it went to voicemail, but she decided against leaving a message. As much as she wanted to believe Ben Hales was innocent, she needed to know his movements for last night.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The meeting with Valerie and James was more succinct than previous ones. Valerie was concerned this was spiralling out of control, but James leapt to Matilda’s defence. He said because Katie Reaney had kept herself under the radar, very few people would know who she really was. It improved the police’s chances of catching the murderer.
This made Matilda smile, and she looked across at the psychologist, who smiled back. It seemed strange to be sitting so close to someone who looked like her dead husband. First, it was just the eyes, now it seemed to be more of him; the smile, the way he sat, held a pen, the warm feeling he gave Matilda every time she was in the same room as him. What are you doing? She hated the fact she was looking at another man and thinking such thoughts. She picked up her coffee cup from Valerie’s desk and placed it firmly on the back of her hand. The burning sensation ran up her arm. She was punishing herself.
‘Thank you,’ Matilda said as she and James stood in the corridor outside Valerie’s office. Fortunately, the meeting hadn’t gone on for too long. ‘For what you said in there.’
‘My pleasure.’
It was almost seven o’clock and the station was quiet as the majority of staff had gone home for the day. They walked along the dark corridor in silence.
‘It must be difficult having a case that runs on. I’m assuming most murders get solved fairly quickly.’
‘The domestic ones can do. Luckily, cases like this are very few and far between. They do tend to consume you.’
‘Not much free time for other things.’
‘No.’
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
Matilda stopped walking. ‘Yes. Sure. I’d like that,’ she smiled.
What the hell am I doing?
James Dalziel was at the bar waiting to be served. Sitting at a small table in the corner of All Bar One, Matilda felt anxious. The evening crowd in polyester jackets, sensible shoes, and lanyards around their necks were enjoying an after-work drink with colleagues to go over the events of the day. After the second or third, they began to loosen up, their body language relaxed and their talk moved away from the office to more private matters. The façade they kept up from nine until five was gone.
‘Oh my God, if I’d been there I think I would have wet myself,’ said one of the women. She leaned back and laughed, nudged the man sitting next to her and placed her hand on his knee to balance herself.
Were they a couple or just co-workers who were great friends? Matilda couldn’t imagine herself being so comfortable with Christian Brady or Rory Fleming, as funny and as sweet as they were.
‘Are you sure you don’t want anything stronger?’ James asked, placing an orange juice down in front of Matilda.
‘No thanks. I don’t drink on weekdays,’ she lied.
‘Very restrained of you. I always like a pint to round off a difficult day,’ he said, taking a lingering sip of his lager. ‘Lovely.’
‘You don’t deal with murders often?’
‘I’ve consulted on a few cases, but I mostly teach psychology. This is a whole new ball game for me.’
‘I’d like to say you get used to it, but I don’t think people being murdered is something we should get used to.’
‘So what drove you to murder?’ James asked rather too loudly. The party at the next table turned to look at them, and Matilda almost choked on her drink. ‘Shit! I don’t mean what drove you to kill someone. I’m not saying you’re a killer or anything. I meant … what I meant was …’
Jesus! He even blushes like James.
‘It’s OK. I know what you mean.’ She smiled. She turned to the group sitting next to them. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not dangerous.’ They gave nervous smiles and went back to their drinks, although they soon left. ‘People fascinate me. I know not everyone in the world is a killer, but I’m interested in why people do what they do, why they behave in a particular way, what drives them to the extreme.’
‘Depressing,’ James said with a hint of a smile.
‘It can be. It depends if you allow it to get to you.’
‘Do you?’
‘Sometimes.’ Another lie. Always.
‘How do you unwind?’
‘Well right now, I’m training to run the Sheffield half-marathon. Me and Adele, her son and Scott are raising money for charity.’
‘Oh wow, excellent. What’s the charity?’
Oh God, I’m going to have to go through the whole story of James dying again. I don’t want to cry in public.
‘It’s a cancer charity. My husband died from a brain tumour,’ she quickly said.
‘Oh yes, you said that he died around the time Carl Meagan went missing. I’m so sorry. That must have been a difficult time for you.’
‘It was. What about you? Are you married?’ The words almost fell out of her mouth as she tried to change the subject of conversation.
‘I was. My ex-wife is still in Scotland.’
‘Any children?’
‘Two,’ he beamed. ‘I see them as often as I can but it’s not easy.’
‘I can imagine. Why did you move to Sheffield?’
‘The job came up. It was the right time, so I took it. I wish I’d waited for something closer to home, but … I didn’t think I’d miss the girls as much as I do. What about you? Any children?’
‘No,’ Matilda replied quickly. She never wanted children. James hadn’t either. However, now he was dead she wished they’d had one: a reminder of the man she loved. ‘Will you re-marry?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure. If someone special came along, maybe, but I’m not actively looking. What about you?’
Yes, what about me?
Matilda swallowed hard. Before she had met James, she would have said a determined no straight away. Why was she hesitating? Surely just because he looked like her husband didn’t mean he would be a near-perfect match. That wasn’t healthy, anyway.
Answer him, you stupid woman.
‘No. I don’t think so,’ she eventually replied. She took a long drink of the acidic orange that tasted bitter on her tongue. Over the top of her glass she looked across the table at James, who smiled at her.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ he asked,
leaning forward.
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
It was almost midnight by the time the taxi pulled up outside Adele’s house. Despite having to pass where James Dalziel lived to get to Adele’s, he insisted on staying in the cab, so he knew she arrived home safely. She thanked him for a lovely evening, and genuinely meant it. She couldn’t get out of the taxi fast enough though, to avoid any awkwardness over whether to kiss him or not. She watched as the cab drove away. James turned around and waved at her through the window. She smiled. She took her key out of her coat pocket and walked down the short path to the front door.
‘Matilda.’
At the sound of her name being whispered she turned around quickly, but there was nobody there. She was sure someone had called out to her.
Across the road was a row of houses then a patch of green land with a few trees, branches swaying in the breeze. Was someone there, hiding behind the trees, watching her, tormenting her?
Plucking courage from somewhere, she put the key back in her pocket and headed for the road. The door behind her opened, bathing her in a soothing yellow glow.
‘I thought I heard a car pull up. Forgot your key?’ Adele said.
‘What?’ Matilda kept looking back at the trees. ‘Erm … yes … no.’
‘Come on, you’re letting all the warmth out.’
Matilda entered the house and closed the door behind her, making sure all the locks were secure. She looked through the spyhole, waiting for some kind of movement. She had heard her name being called. There was definitely somebody out there watching her.
‘I thought you’d have been in bed by now,’ Matilda said to Adele, who was sitting in the living room in her dressing gown, a hardback open face down on the coffee table in front of her.
‘I would have been but, when you sent me that text saying you were going out for dinner with the handsome psychologist, I couldn’t wait until morning to get all the sexy details.’ She grinned.
‘There are no sexy details. And who said he was handsome?’
‘Sian did.’
