by Michael Wood
‘Please don’t tell me you’ve called her to ask about him.’
‘No, I did not call her,’ Adele said, looking down at the floor.
‘You texted her though, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Sian said he was gorgeous. She’s going to try and get a photo of him tomorrow and send it to me. Or did you take a selfie with him tonight?’
Matilda turned and went into the kitchen. ‘You’re incorrigible, do you know that?’ She switched the kettle on.
‘I’m just interested,’ Adele said, trotting in behind her. ‘I think it’s great you’re out dating again.’
‘I’m not dating him, Adele,’ Matilda said, almost ratty. ‘I just went for a meal, that’s all.’
‘But you’re out there, that’s the main thing. You’re not wallowing at home like you have been doing lately. Matilda, come and sit down.’
Adele grabbed Matilda’s arms and walked her to the breakfast table. They both sat.
Matilda felt her eyes filling. There was a lump in her throat.
‘Matilda, I love you, you know I do. I loved James too. You were the perfect couple. Sometimes, sickeningly so.’ She smiled. ‘When James died I worried that you’d withdraw into yourself and wither away. To an extent, you have done, but now you’re out there having meals with handsome men—’
‘It’s one man,’ she interrupted.
‘But it’s a start. You’ve come a long way, Matilda, you should be proud of that.’
‘I haven’t come a long way at all.’ Matilda slumped, a tear fell from her eye.
‘Do you think you’re betraying James by going out with another man?’
Matilda shook her head, wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. ‘It’s not that. Adele, he’s the spitting image of James. You should see him, he could be his clone. I only agreed to go for a drink and have a meal with him because it would be like having one final dinner with my husband. Now, tell me that’s an improvement on spending my evenings alone?’
‘Oh, Matilda.’ Adele stood up and put her arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. ‘James would want you to move on. He’d want you to be happy.’
‘I know he would, but I don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘I don’t want to be happy without James. If I can’t have a future with him I don’t want one at all,’ she managed to say before the torrent of tears came.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Mr Reaney, what can you tell us about your wife?’
Andy Reaney looked marginally healthier than yesterday when his entire world had come tumbling down around him. He was still pale and there were dried tear tracks on his face, but he was coherent and able to be questioned.
Sitting in the interview room was Sian and Christian, with Andy on the opposite side of the table. They all had a mug of tea and Sian had brought in a Blue Riband for each of them, not that anyone had taken one yet. Before they began, Andy told them the children were staying in Ripon for a few days longer with his parents until he found the courage to break the news about their mother. He had no idea how he was going to do it.
‘Katie was a wonderful mum. She was warm, caring, loved her kids. She’d do anything for them. She’d do anything for anyone.’ He smiled through his tears.
‘She worked as a doctor’s receptionist. Is that right?’
‘Yes. She could have done anything she wanted to, she was very intelligent, but she wanted to be there for the kids.’
‘Where did you and Katie meet?’
‘It was years ago. I’m an electrician. I’ve got my own business. I was just starting out when we met. She called me to give her a quote on some rewiring, and we just hit it off straight away. Why are you asking me about that? What’s it got to do with anything? Do you think Katie was killed like those others in the newspaper? That she was hanged for something she’s done?’
‘Mr Reaney—’ Christian began.
‘No, wait a minute, she’s dead. My Katie is dead. My kids have lost their mother. I’m not having you lot accusing her of doing something, just so it fits into what you’re investigating. I read the papers. I know you’ve got dozens of unsolved murders on your books. You’re not putting my Katie in with a load of scum just to improve your figures.’ Andy was almost out of his chair. His face was flushed with anger.
‘Mr Reaney, please, sit down,’ Christian said calmly.
Andy looked at Christian’s and Sian’s blank faces before he retook his seat. He calmed himself with a few deep breaths.
‘Mr Reaney, we have some information about your wife that may come as a surprise,’ Sian said. ‘It’s not going to be easy to hear, I’m afraid.’
From inside the cardboard file in front of her, Sian pulled out several evidence bags that contained the information found under the floorboards in Katie and Andy’s bedroom.
‘Do you know what this is?’ Sian asked, laying the first exhibit in front of him.
‘No,’ he said, barely looking.
‘It’s a deed poll from a solicitor’s office in Birmingham dated 2008. It states that a Naomi Parish legally changed her name to Katie Simpson.’
Andy shrugged. ‘OK. So what? She changed her name. Loads of people do that. It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Could you tell me who the girl in this photograph is, please?’ Sian asked, taking out a newspaper clipping from the folder.
Andy read the headline, ‘CHILD KILLER FREED’, then looked at the photo. Tears were forming in his eyes once again.
‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly, his emotions making lies of his words.
‘Take a good look, Mr Reaney,’ Sian said. ‘It’s Katie, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘No. It can’t be.’
‘Mr Reaney.’ Sian sighed. ‘I hate to say this, but when Katie was eleven, she was called Naomi Parish. She shook a one-year-old baby to death and served seven years in a youth prison. When she was released, she changed her name to Katie Simpson.’
‘No. You’ve got it all wrong. This is someone else.’
‘We found this under floorboards in your bedroom, Mr Reaney.’
He looked up from the newspaper clipping. His eyes were red. Tears were streaming down his face. Sian handed him a tissue, and he blew his nose loudly.
‘But we’ve got kids,’ he struggled to say. ‘Why would she have kids if she’d …’ he pointed to the newspaper cutting.
‘We can only guess by the evidence we have, but I think Katie was genuinely sorry for what she had done in the past.’
Andy nodded. ‘She loved Jenson and Bobbi. She loved them more than me, more than herself. She would never, ever, hurt them. I know it. She was a good woman. Oh God! What am I going to tell my mum and dad? This is going to kill them,’ he said as he collapsed into himself. His cries were loud and echoed around the room.
‘I’ve just got off the phone to Forensics,’ Sian said as she followed Matilda into her small office. ‘There are no foreign prints anywhere in the Reaney house, and the only fingerprints on the documents found under the floorboards belong to Katie Reaney.’
‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ Matilda said, taking off her coat and slumping into her chair with a heavy sigh. ‘Where is everybody?’ she asked looking out into the almost empty incident room.
‘It’s lunchtime,’ Sian said.
‘Is it?’ Matilda’s mobile started ringing.
‘Do you want to get that?’
She looked at the screen. She didn’t recognize the number. ‘No. They’ll leave a message.’
‘Well, Aaron’s popped home to see Katrina, and Scott and Rory are viewing a flat on the Riverside Exchange.’
‘The original odd couple.’ Matilda smiled.
‘Absolutely. Now, Andy Reaney gave us his wife’s mobile number. I’ve got onto EE and they’re going to email across details of the phone records. We’re trying to triangulate it now to see where it was last switched on.’
‘Will do. We’ve also had a call from a Mrs Pickering. She lives next door to the Reaneys, and she said she heard someone in the back garden last night. I’ve sent Faith round to interview her.’
‘What about Alistair Macintosh’s parents?’
‘I’ve called twice this morning but had no reply. I’m guessing they’re at work. If I don’t get any joy later, I’ll contact local police and ask someone to pop round.’
‘You don’t need me here at all, do you?’ Matilda asked with a smile.
‘Not really. I’m sure Christian and I could cope without you. We could share your massive salary.’ She grinned.
Matilda laughed as her mobile started to ring again. ‘Very funny, Sian. Hello, DCI Darke,’ she said into the phone as Sian left the office, closing the door behind her.
‘Katie Reaney was quite the find.’ It was the killer.
‘What?’ Matilda asked.
‘Who knew there were so many sinful people living in Sheffield? What sins do you need to atone for, Matilda?’
She listened intently. According to James Dalziel, the killer knew her, that must mean she knew him. She didn’t recognize the voice, but he could have been using voice distortion software.
‘Who are you?’
‘Who am I?’ The caller laughed. ‘Dig a little deeper, Matilda. You already know who I am.’
‘Ben?’ she asked quietly, but the caller had already hung up.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Matilda drove as fast as she could through rush-hour traffic. She was soon out of the city centre and heading for Ben Hales’s home. Unfortunately, the lights were against her and she had to stop at almost every set. She stared impatiently, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. The second they changed to amber, she slammed her foot down and broke the speed limit.
The banging on the door was loud enough to wake the dead. Neighbours came to their windows to see who was making such a racket.
‘Ben, open the door. Come on, I know you’re in there,’ Matilda called out as she slammed a gloved fist onto the dirty front door.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ An elderly woman shouted from next door.
Matilda glanced up. ‘I’m looking for Ben Hales.’
‘Well he’s obviously not in if he’s not answering the door.’
‘He is in. I know he is,’ she said, looking back at Ben’s house. She could almost feel him at the other side of the front door, sneering at her. She thumped again, louder.
‘Will you stop that?’ the old woman shouted. ‘I’ve got a husband in here with Alzheimer’s. He’s trying to get some rest. He doesn’t need you banging the door down.’
Matilda ignored her. She went over to the window of the living room and tried to see inside. She squinted and made a visor out of her hands to get a better view. The television was off, but the place was still a mess.
‘I’m ringing the police,’ the woman said.
‘I am the bloody police,’ Matilda called out.
‘Yes. And I’m Meryl Streep,’ she replied with sarcasm.
Matilda dug in her jacket pocket for her warrant card. ‘DCI Matilda Darke. South Yorkshire Police.’
‘Oh. You’re Matilda Darke are you?’ She folded her arms. ‘He’s told me all about you.’
‘I’m sure he has.’
‘I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve coming round here, pestering him like this. Why don’t you leave the poor man alone? Haven’t you done enough already?’
‘Me pestering him? That’s rich! I don’t know what kind of lies he’s been telling you—’
The door slammed closed leaving Matilda talking to herself.
She stepped back and looked up at the house. There were no curtains drawn and no lights on. The house seemed abandoned, but she couldn’t help feeling Ben was in there, and had heard every word.
‘I didn’t expect you home just yet,’ Adele walked into her kitchen to find Matilda sitting at the breakfast table. There was an open bottle of wine in front of her and an empty glass. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, her eyes on the glass and not Matilda.
Matilda rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve had one drink.’
‘I just … I didn’t think you drank alone.’
‘I don’t. Usually. But you have wine here.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing. Why?’
Adele sat down opposite her. ‘You seem tense. Like you’re going to explode at any moment.’
Matilda took a deep breath. ‘I think I know who the killer is.’
‘Well that’s great – isn’t it?’ Adele asked, slightly confused.
‘Not really.’
‘I don’t follow.’
Matilda bit the inside of her cheek, stalling for time, trying to find the courage to voice her views. Unfortunately, once they were out in the open she couldn’t take them back. ‘I think it might be Ben.’
‘Ben? Who’s Ben?’
‘Ben. Ben Hales. Former Detective Inspector Ben Hales.’
‘What? Seriously?’
Adele looked down at the empty glass then back up at Matilda again.
She either thinks I’m pissed or I’ve finally gone mad.
‘I know it sounds, you know, a bit far-fetched, but, the phone calls. It’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do – taunt me.’
‘Oh God,’ Adele sighed. ‘Matilda, are you sure about this?’
‘Yes. Well, no, but. Shit! I don’t know.’ She pushed the glass away.
‘OK. Matilda, you have three dead bodies. Do you honestly think Ben Hales is capable of killing three people?’
Matilda looked at her hands and saw they were shaking – fear, dread, anxiety? She hid them under the table. ‘The killer is somebody who knows about the victim’s past, knows information that could only be found by someone who knows where to look. How else could the killer have found Brian Appleby and who he really was? And Katie Reaney. There is nothing online or anywhere to give away her real identity.’
‘Matilda, Ben doesn’t work on the force anymore. He hasn’t done for a long time. How could he get that kind of information?’
Adele tried to be as sympathetic as possible to Matilda, but it was sounding patronizing and placatory.
‘There are ways,’ Matilda said, less convinced than she had been a few minutes ago.
‘After what he did, I doubt he’d have someone on the inside helping him.’
‘You don’t know how convincing, how manipulative, he can be. His father-in-law used to be a chief constable. He could still have connections.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘OK. You need to be really convinced about what you’re saying before you take it to Valerie.’
‘I know that,’ she almost snapped. ‘Why do you think I’ve had a drink?’
‘Look, run through everything with me and we’ll see what fits and what doesn’t.’
Matilda slumped in her seat. She had been through it all dozens of times in her head. Would it make sense saying it out loud? ‘No. Not tonight. I’m tired. I think I’m going to go back home.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’ve overstayed my welcome.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course you haven’t,’ Adele scoffed.
‘I have. If I stay here any longer, then I won’t go home at all.’
‘Why don’t we go for a run? That’ll clear your head. We could join Chris and Scott in the park.’
‘What? Are they out running again? Jesus, they’re going to leave us for dead on race day.’
Matilda had now been staying at Adele’s for a couple of weeks. However, she had only packed for a maximum of three days. Instead of returning back to the house to collect a few more pairs of knickers or clothes for work, she either quickly washed through what she had or went out to buy more items. There was a fear stopping her from going home.
Home. Home is where the heart is, apparently. Her heart was wherever James Darke was, and he certainly wasn’t at home right now. She was only desperate to go back there because her memories were there. She needed to feel James around her, his clothes, his belongings, his smell. That had faded months ago, but if she concentrated hard, she could still smell him, or so she thought.
It was only nine o’clock yet there was a silence surrounding her as she drove through the dark and gloomy streets of Sheffield. Where was the traffic? Where were the people who couldn’t be bothered to cook so had eaten out?
She turned left into her road and there was her house up ahead. It looked cold and lonely, not inviting at all. It wasn’t welcoming her home. It wasn’t beckoning her. She dug in the glove box for the tiny garage remote and pressed the button. Slowly, the door began to lift, and Matilda drove inside.
The door closed behind her. She turned off the engine and was plunged into darkness.
Carefully, Matilda made her way around her cooling car to the connecting door to the house. She opened it and stepped inside. It was cold. It was freezing cold. It was also quiet. Why hadn’t the alarm sounded? Feeling along the wall next to the door, she found the light switch. She flicked it on, but nothing happened.
Shit.
Had there been a power cut? Matilda tried to remember if her neighbours’ homes were in darkness, but she thought she saw a light on next door. Had the electricity been cut off?
She went back into the garage and, after walking around with her arms stretched out like a bewildered zombie, she found a torch. The fuse box was under the stairs.
Back into the house she pointed the torch to the ground, lighting up the mound of post at the front door, mostly brown envelopes, probably bills. There were a few items from Amazon, small enough to be posted through the letterbox. She walked around the other side of the staircase.
Matilda pointed the torch upwards and stopped in her tracks. It took a while for her brain to register what her eyes were seeing. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible, surely. Then it sunk in. She was looking at the back of a dead man hanging by the neck from her bannister.
Chapter Thirty-Six
