by Michael Wood
George Appleby had decided to defy the gossip and return to university. He had spent the previous evening worrying what everyone was going to say when he stepped into the lecture hall. In the end, it wasn’t as bad as he had expected, mostly because everyone seemed to be ignoring him. He wasn’t happy about that, but he could live with it. When two detectives entered the hall, and called his name, he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Why couldn’t they just allow him to continue with his life without all this drama?
All eyes had been on him as he was led through the corridors of Sheffield Hallam University, flanked by two plain-clothed detectives, and out to a waiting pool car. He hadn’t protested, but he kept thinking of the stories that would be spread about him now.
He accepted the offer of a cup of tea and sat in the interview room with his skeletal fingers firmly gripped around the plastic cup. His pale face looked scared, and he was constantly biting at his bottom lip. He had an oversized navy cardigan hanging on his skinny frame. He said he didn’t want a solicitor present.
Kesinka started the recording and cautioned George Appleby, before she handed over to Faith. As promised, Matilda was in the observation room. She told Faith, through the earpiece, to start with Gordon Berry’s murder and work backwards.
‘George,’ Faith began. She smiled at him, but he didn’t reciprocate. ‘Can you tell us where you were on the evening of Tuesday, 11th April?’
‘I was at home,’ he said softly.
‘Can anyone verify that?’
‘My housemates.’
‘Which ones?’
‘All of them.’ He frowned.
‘We went to your house this morning and spoke to two of your housemates. They said you weren’t at home on Tuesday evening.’ Faith looked down at her pad. ‘You still hadn’t come home at midnight when Anil and Anita went to bed.’
‘Oh Tuesday? I thought you said Monday,’ he lied unconvincingly. ‘I was out.’
‘I’m guessing that. Where?’
‘At the pub.’
‘Which one?’ Faith asked, getting slightly annoyed at his short answers.
‘Walkabout.’
‘On your own?’
He hesitated. ‘No. Well, yes, but, no. I went on my own, but I got chatting to some people at the bar.’
‘Had you seen these people before?’
‘No.’
‘Did you get their names, or numbers?’
‘No.’
‘Would you recognize each other again?’
‘Probably not.’
‘So, really, you have no alibi for Tuesday night.’
‘I do. I’ve just said, I was in Walkabout.’
‘But you can’t prove that.’
‘I didn’t think I’d have to,’ he scoffed. ‘I don’t go out and make sure I always have people with me, so I can prove where I’ve been. Do you?’
‘George, we will be pulling CCTV footage from Walkabout and the surrounding area,’ Faith said.
‘Good. That’ll prove it then.’ He folded his arms.
Faith glanced at the mirror Matilda was standing behind. She raised an eyebrow and hoped the boss would give her something to say back to George, but all she heard was silence. She took out a photograph from the file in front of her, a blown-up image of Gordon Berry, and placed it in front of George. ‘Do you know this man?’
‘No,’ George replied, barely glancing at it.
‘Would you like to look again?’
‘No, I don’t recognize him,’ George said after an exaggerated stare. ‘Who is he?’
‘I’m glad you asked that. His name is Gordon Berry. He was found murdered yesterday morning.’
‘So?’
‘He was hanged. Just like your father was. Just like Joe Lacey was. Just like Katie Reaney was. You don’t seem to have an alibi for the days and times any of those were killed either.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m not saying anything.’
‘You think I murdered them?’ he asked, raising his voice. ‘Do I look like a killer to you?’
‘What does a killer look like, Mr Appleby?’ Kesinka asked.
‘I … well, I don’t know, but not me.’
‘How long are we going to play these games, Mr Appleby?’
‘I can’t believe this.’ He leaned forward and slapped his hands down on the table. ‘You drag me out of a lecture, parade me through university like I’m some sort of Jack the Ripper and then accuse me of murdering four people. You can’t do this.’
‘Mr Appleby, I can do whatever I want—’
‘Steady,’ Matilda said to Faith through her earpiece.
Faith started again. ‘Until you provide us with a suitable alibi for your whereabouts we’re going to have to consider you a suspect.’
‘That’s better,’ Matilda said.
‘Why would I kill them? I have no motive. I didn’t even know these people.’
‘There’s your father.’
‘One person,’ he scoffed. ‘And I hadn’t seen him for years. Not since he got sent down. I had nothing to do with the man.’
‘Do you expect us to believe that?’
‘Yes I do because it’s the truth. For fuck’s sake,’ George replied, getting flustered, ‘are you grilling the other victims’ relatives like this, or am I the only one?’
‘You’re very quick to temper, aren’t you?’ Kesinka asked. ‘Do you have anger issues?’
‘Jesus Christ! I can’t believe this. No. I do not have anger issues. Well, I didn’t until I met you two.’
‘Ask him about Danny Hanson,’ Matilda quickly said.
‘Do you know Danny Hanson?’ Faith asked.
George froze. For a second too long. ‘Er … no. I don’t think so.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Er … yes.’
‘Danny Hanson is a reporter on The Star. He’s been covering the murders extensively. The whole of Sheffield knows all about your father because of Danny’s journalism.’
George shrugged. ‘So?’
‘Danny Hanson was attacked by someone who matches your description,’ Faith said.
‘What? Tall and thin with messy hair? You were at the university, we all look like that.’
Faith opened a file and read from Danny’s statement. ‘“Tall, thin, dark red unkempt hair, a slight southern accent”. Do you often walk around Weston Park during the hours of darkness?’
George didn’t reply. His eyes firmly fixed on the table.
‘So what happened?’ Kesinka asked. ‘Was he too strong for you? Did you try to get the noose over his neck, but his big scarf and coat got in the way?’
‘No.’
‘Were you interrupted? Did you have to abandon your plan to kill him?’
‘What are you talking about?’ He flustered. ‘There was no plan.’
‘So it was a spontaneous thing then?’
‘No. I—’ He stopped himself.
‘Go on,’ Kesinka prompted.
‘Fuck,’ he uttered. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. The story had just been printed about my dad, and I’d been getting taunts.’
‘Taunts?’ Kesinka asked.
‘Yes. On Facebook and Twitter. People saying things about me. My housemates have asked me to leave. My mum doesn’t want to know me. It’s like I’m on my own and everyone’s against me,’ he said. His face was a picture of angst. A tear escaped from his eye.
‘Why did you strangle Danny Hanson?’
‘I didn’t strangle him.’
‘You grabbed his scarf and tightened it around his neck.’
‘I know what you’re thinking. I tried to strangle him, so I must be behind the hangings. I’m not. Honestly. I grabbed his scarf because he was wearing one. I saw red. I’m sorry.’
‘Do you have problems controlling your anger, Mr Appleby?’ Kesinka asked.
‘Good,’ Matilda said.
‘No,’ he sniggered. ‘You’re taking this
out of context.’ George ran his fingers through his unruly hair anxiously. ‘I was planning to talk to Danny, you know, ask him how he had the cheek to write those things and not to think of the consequences. But when I saw him, I just, I don’t know, I—’
‘Snapped,’ Faith completed his sentence for him.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you snap with your father, Joe Lacey, Katie Reaney and Gordon Berry too?’
‘No. You’re not listening to me,’ he said, his voice full of emotion. He was physically drained by the bombardment of questions.
‘You’re going around in circles. Stop the interview, give him a breather,’ Matilda said.
‘I tell you what, we’ll stop here for a short break. Then, we’ll restart, and you can tell us exactly where you were.’
‘Interview terminated 11.47,’ Kesinka Rani said, turning the recording off.
‘You did good work in there, Faith,’ Matilda said as they both joined her in the observation room. ‘You need to rein in your … excitement a tad,’ she said with a sympathetic smile, trying to find the right word. ‘Don’t let your frustration affect your questioning.’
‘OK,’ she said, taking her boss’s words on board.
Matilda looked past the DCs and into the interview room where George Appleby had his head in his arms on the table. ‘Right, go and get yourself a cup of tea. Give him half an hour to stew then have another go. I’ll be upstairs.’
‘Ma’am,’ Faith called her boss back, ‘is he seriously a suspect?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What about the attack on Danny Hanson?’
‘Danny said he doesn’t want to press charges, so we’ve no case. I would like to know his alibis for the killings though, just to put my mind at rest. Go and get yourselves that tea.’
Matilda watched as Faith and Kesinka headed in the direction of the canteen. How could she have possibly doubted those two?
Matilda left the room and headed for the stairwell. Once on her own, her mind went back to the clandestine meeting last night. Would Scott and Rory treat her any differently now? She nudged shoulders with a PC coming down the stairs. He dropped a few files. Matilda waved an apology. Deep in thought, she carried on and felt a prickly sensation creep up the back of her neck again.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
‘Adele, what are you doing here?’ Matilda asked as she entered the incident room to find Adele and Sian chatting over a coffee.
‘I needed to get out of the office for a while. I’ve had Simon Browes on the phone to me all day.’
‘Why?’
‘Now that your serial case has made the national press, he’s suddenly interested in it. The bloke’s a glory hunter.’
‘I hope he’s not planning on talking to the press.’
‘No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d more likely write a paper on it and make sure he’s mentioned more times than he should be.’
Matilda helped herself to a chunky KitKat from Sian’s drawer. ‘Why would anyone actively seek publicity? I can’t stand it. It’s like the killer, he’s loving the newspapers writing stories about him. There are other ways of getting attention.’
‘Yes. He could audition for Big Brother,’ Sian sniggered. Her phone started ringing. She picked it up and turned away.
‘You think that’s what this is all about then? Attention seeking?’ Adele asked.
‘That’s what narcissistic people do. They want us all to look at them, to see what they’re doing. He’s staging his murders. He’s contacting the press to make sure they get the story.’
‘Welcome to twenty-first century Britain. Everyone’s life is in the public domain nowadays,’ Adele said. ‘Oh, by the way, my burglar’s been caught.’
‘Has he?’
‘Yes. I had a call from a Sergeant Blumenthal who said a bloke had been arrested. He’d admitted a spate of burglaries around the city, including breaking into my house.’
‘Nice to see someone in South Yorkshire Police is capable of solving a crime,’ Matilda said, looking at the faces of four dead people on the murder boards.
‘Oh my God,’ Sian said. ‘Ma’am, I’ve just had Karen Lacey’s sister on the phone. She went round to Karen’s house this morning – she’s hanged herself.’
Matilda drove with Adele in the back and Sian in the front. They had been going for over ten minutes in a heavy silence when Sian shattered it with her revelation about Karen’s secret visit the day before. She filled them both in on who the real killer of Rebecca Branson was and how she and Joe had covered it up for all these years.
‘You should have told me, Sian,’ Matilda said.
‘I was going to come round last night, but you sent that text and we had that meeting and it just went by the by. I’m sorry. I told Karen to go home and be the best mum she could be to her kids. How stupid can you get? Her husband had been murdered because of something she’d done. I should have known this would happen.’
‘Sian, don’t blame yourself,’ Adele said from the back seat. ‘Nobody could have foreseen this.’
‘If you want me to resign, boss, I will,’ Sian said, gazing out of the window. The sun was trying to break through the heavy clouds hanging over Sheffield, but it still looked dark and dreary.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Matilda warned her.
Matilda pulled up outside the Lacey house. Selina Bridger was waiting for them on the doorstep. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest. She was an older version of Karen Lacey, with the same hairstyle and colour, and the same build. Her face had the haunted look of the recently bereaved, just as Karen’s had when Matilda first met her. As soon as Selina saw Matilda and Sian climb out of the car, she hurried towards them.
‘I didn’t know whether to call for an ambulance or not, but I mean, she’s dead, isn’t she?’ Selina waffled.
Sian held her by the shoulders. ‘It’s all right, Selina, calm down. Do you want to go back to your home and we’ll come and see you in a bit?’
‘No. I’m OK. I’ll wait here.’
Matilda and Adele entered the house. It seemed like an age since they were both last here when Joe Lacey was found hanging in the garage. They made their away along the hallway. The house was cold, silent and unlived in. The stale Minion cake was still on the table in the dining room.
Matilda turned to the door leading to the garage and pushed it open. The cold hit her and she shuddered. The darkness surrounded her as she descended the steps, the sound of her shoes echoing around the room.
Adele fumbled for the light switch, eventually flicking it on. Their eyes adjusted. The Audi was still there. The shelves on either side were still stacked with paint tins, boxes of odds and ends that would never come in useful for anything. Children’s bikes were propped up against the wall. And Karen Lacey was hanging from a beam on the ceiling.
‘Jesus,’ Matilda uttered.
Karen was hanging in the exact same position as her husband. The hook drilled into a beam on the ceiling. Karen was lifeless, the noose tight around her neck – thirteen twists in the rope – and there was a white pillowcase pulled over her head.
Adele came down the steps and had a good look at the body. ‘Shit.’
‘What is it?’ Matilda asked.
‘I think you’ll find Karen Lacey was murdered.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘She didn’t take her own life. This is victim number five.’
Matilda turned to Adele. Horror etched into her face. The nightmare was getting worse.
Chapter Sixty
By the time the crime scene at Meersbrook had been processed and Karen Lacey had been cut down and taken to the mortuary, it was dark, and there was only one place Matilda wanted to go – back to the office. She needed to go through the files of the victims, to start from the beginning, even if that took all night.
‘Boss, I was just leaving,’ Faith said when she saw the DCI enter, looking shattered. ‘Is it true about Karen Lacey?�
��
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
‘Bloody hell. Those poor children. Anyway, I was going to put this on your desk. I didn’t know if you were coming back or not. Me and Kesinka interviewed George Appleby on our own. I hope you don’t mind.’ She paused for Matilda to answer, but she didn’t. ‘Anyway, it didn’t go on for too long. As soon as we opened the door, he started talking and we couldn’t shut him up. It turns out George is struggling with his sexuality. He had a drunken kiss with a gay friend at Christmas, and he’s not sure if he enjoyed it or not. He’s been going online to find blokes, and he’s been meeting them. He showed us all the messages he’s been getting. I think we can rule him out.’
‘OK,’ Matilda said, only half listening.
‘I told him to be careful and I’ve been on to the LGBT Police Network. They gave me a few local groups who he can talk to. He’s just a very worried and mixed-up lad. This business with his dad isn’t going to help either, and his mother sounds like a complete cow by all accounts. I felt sorry for him in the end.’
‘Thanks, Faith, I really appreciate what you’ve done today. You get off home. The traffic will be murder getting to Hillsborough soon.’
‘I’m not staying at home at the moment. I’m house-sitting for my aunt while she’s away. You know those old townhouses on Rocks Avenue? It’s lovely having a place all to myself.’
‘What?’ Matilda asked, distracted.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Faith turned and left Matilda’s office. She picked up her mobile and coat from the back of her chair and headed for the exit. She turned to look at her boss. As much as she would love to be a DCI one day, she didn’t want to sacrifice her family and her social life.
Matilda sat at her desk and went through the files of Brian Appleby, Joe Lacey, Katie Reaney, and Gordon Berry. Now there was Karen Lacey to add to the list. James Dalziel told her she already knew who the killer was, and she was starting to think he was right.
Matilda spent almost an hour wracking her brain. The only people she saw on a regular basis were those at work – detectives, uniformed officers, civilian staff, the ACC, SOCOs, Adele, members of the press. Outside of work, Matilda had no life. She didn’t speak to her neighbours, she wasn’t a member of a gym or any groups. There was nobody in her local supermarket who she was on first name terms with. If James Dalziel was right, if Matilda did know the killer, then it had to be a member of the police. If that was true, the repercussions were going to be massive.
