A Need To Kill (DI Matt Barnes)

by Michael Kerr

  “Keys to the cottage and three thousand pounds,” she said to Lucas, who was leaning against the door jamb and watching her every move. “Does that buy me your silence, and get rid of you?”

  “I don’t know that I could relax, with you knowing where I am.”

  She took him by the hand, as though he was a little boy, and led him back through to the bedroom, to the bedside cabinet that had an open shelf over two drawers.

  “Look on the underside of the shelf, Lucas. Tell me what you see.”

  Frowning, Lucas hunkered down and did as she bid. There was a black button like a bell push screwed to it, with a cable running back, to vanish through a hole drilled in the back of the cabinet.

  “Press it, and the police will be here in two minutes,” Marjory said. “It’s a panic button; a direct, silent way of contacting and summoning the local Bobbies. Impressive, eh?”

  “Very,” Lucas said, standing and putting his hands on her shoulders. He appreciated that she could have probably pressed it without him knowing. It gave him the necessary confidence to believe that she did not want him to be found and in any way linked to her.

  “Write down the address of the cottage,” he said. “And then I’ll be on my way.”

  She took a small notebook from the top of the dresser, scribbled the address on a blank page, ripped the sheet out and handed it to him.

  Lucas hugged her, and gave her a tender kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Auntie. Don’t bother seeing me to the door, I’ll leave by the same way I broke in.”

  After he had left, Marjory sat down on the bed and cried, mainly with relief. After a few minutes, she went into the bathroom to tend to the blistering burns on her breast and stomach. She hoped that he would have a fatal car crash. While he was alive, her sordid past might yet become public knowledge. Maybe she could ensure that it didn’t. She was the only person who knew where he would be. And she had access to Vincent’s collection of shotguns.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Matt stopped at a pub in the village, just a four minute drive from the Walters’ estate. On duty or not, he felt the need of a large JD.

  “You buying, boss?” Pete said.

  Matt fished out his wallet, took a tenner from it and pushed it into Pete’s hand. “Get them in. I need to take a leak,” he said, looking around the bar, seeing the TOILETS sign and heading off to the swing door at the right of the inglenook fireplace.

  He stood at the urinal and let his mind wander as he peed. There was a part of him that was now coming to understand how his quarry thought. Not a conscious effort to know Downey, but an intrinsic knowledge of his mind set. He drifted, became the man he was pursuing. Knew on some level how it was to be the psychopath tattooist. He assimilated the man’s background, to sense the affects of being tortured by the brutal role models of an aggressive mother and her probably even more violent boyfriend. Downey had been patterned by abuse and a lack of parental love. His personality had been metaphorically sculpted by clumsy hammers and blunt chisels, which had produced a malformed end product that – had he been a creation hewn from marble – should have been reduced to rubble and discarded.

  Matt felt the rejection and was consumed with a pathological maternal hatred. Killing his mother was too little too late to negate the need for revenge. All women were evil, untrustworthy, and ultimately guilty. And yet each time he killed one of the bitches, he found only transitory satisfaction and had to keep repeating the act. It was a circle that he could not and did not want to break.

  “You okay, boss?” Pete said, coming up behind him in the toilet.

  Matt swung round and drew his fist back.

  Pete backed-up and put the palms of his hands up defensively. “Whoa, boss, what the hell are you doing?”

  Matt blinked to focus on his sergeant. His rage dissipated as he lowered his arm and withdrew from the assumed personality of Lucas Downey.

  “Sorry, Pete,” he said. “I was having one of my insights.”

  “You picked a funny place to have it. Why not holster your weapon.”

  “Uh?”

  Pete grinned and looked down to Matt’s fly.

  “Jesus!” Matt said, turning his back to Pete and zipping up.

  As he started in on a second JD, Matt phoned Beth. Got voice mail and left her a message to call him back ASAP.

  “You believe that Marjory Walters hasn’t had any contact with Lucas?” Pete said, wiping the froth from the pint off his lips with the back of his hand.

  “I’m not sure. But I think that if he hasn’t already, he will approach her. He’s got nowhere else to go. Put yourself in his position. Every cop is looking out for him. He needs somewhere to hole up, especially if he’s still got Julie with him.”

  “But why would he trust his aunt?”

  “He doesn’t trust anyone. She has a history that she doesn’t want to become public knowledge, ever. That gives him leverage. If I was Lucas, she would be my first port of call. We’ll go back and watch the place. Phone the office and get a couple of the team out here to relieve us. I want the woman under 24/7 surveillance.”

  They bought sandwiches to go, and drove back to a vantage point that gave them a clear view of the main entrance of what was named, The Willows.

  It was an hour later when Beth returned Matt’s call. “I was tied up in a CPP meeting. I just got your message,” she said.

  “No sweat. I wanted to run something past you.”

  “What?”

  “Our suspect has an aunt that used to practise the oldest profession, but is now a woman of substance with a mega-rich hubby and a life that she wouldn’t want to jeopardise. She confirmed that Lucas was treated badly as a kid, and didn’t seem too surprised to learn that he had grown up to be a psycho killer, or that he had most likely topped her sister...his mother. She says he hasn’t contacted her. Do you think that she’ll do the right thing if he comes knocking at her door?”

  “I’d have to meet her to make a calculated guess. How did you read her?”

  “Hard as nails. A selfish old cow that would look out for her own interests. Her husband is Vincent Walters, the property tycoon. These are the type who know A-list people and get invites to royal garden parties and stuff.”

  “Then she would probably protect Lucas to keep the status quo. She seems the perfect answer to all his problems. He needs accommodation and money. She can provide both. I would imagine that he would have the pick of any vacant property that Vincent Walters owns. I’m sure that his aunt could get the keys for him. He will want an out of the way place, the more privacy the better. Do you know what he’s driving?”

  “No. But he garaged and torched his van. And we assume he still has Julie. That means he must have stolen a car in close proximity to where he lived. All reported stolen vehicles in that area are being regarded as his likely getaway car. Is there anything else you think we can do?”

  “Just keep the pressure on his aunt. Threaten to blow her cover if she doesn’t fully cooperate.”

  “I’ve already done that.”

  “Keep on her, Matt. She sounds a tough nut. It isn’t in her best interest to turn him in.”

  “So?”

  “So go back there and ruffle her feathers a little harder. Pluck them out if you have to. Lucas doesn’t have the luxury of time to play with. If he decided to make contact with her, then I have the feeling that he might have already done so.”

  “Thanks, Beth. I’ll give you a bell if she comes clean.”

  The lay-by was deserted. Lucas opened the boot and tutted when he saw the duct tape hanging from Julie’s chin.

  “I...I couldn’t breathe, and I thought I was going to throw up,” Julie said in defence of freeing her mouth.

  “Have you been screaming for help?”

  “No, Lucas. I swear I haven’t.”

  Her eyes were filled with fear, but not dishonesty. He decided to give her the benefit of doubt. And even if she had tried to summon help, he couldn’t blame her. He c
ould appreciate that she would rather not be his captive under these circumstances. Under any circumstances.

  “I know that you’re scared and miserable, Julie,” he said with what he thought to be a quality of tenderness. “But things are looking up. I’ve just been to see my Aunt Marjory, and she’s given me money and the keys to a cottage out in the country. It’s quite a distance from here, but I’ll stop and get us something to eat and drink on the way. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds good. Only, please don’t gag me again. I promise that I won’t make a noise.”

  He actually felt a little warmth towards her. She was like a sad-eyed spaniel who only wanted to please her master. He stroked her head, running his fingers over the blonde stubble.

  “Okay, sweetheart. You’re on trust. Just think good thoughts, and before you know it everything will be so much better. I plan on us being together for a long time.”

  He put the wheel brace under the seat, opened the glove box and found a road atlas folded in half. He studied it, then started the car and drove off in the direction of the A404. Planned getting onto the M40 west before finding somewhere to grab a coffee and something to eat. He was excited. Couldn’t wait to get to the cottage in the forest. This felt like going on holiday.

  He did not notice the grey Discovery that flashed by on the other side of the road. Had he not been lost in thought, then he might have seen the face of his nemesis behind the wheel.

  Matt and Pete would never know that they had been within feet of the killer they sought. The Volvo was just one of several cars that rushed by in the opposite direction.

  Lucas pulled in to the car park of a greasy spoon north of Oxford. Coasted across to an ill-lit corner away from a Shell oil tanker, car transporter and three other trucks that were parked cheek-to-jowl out front.

  It was dark, and he felt safe and in total control. The only lingering doubt in his mind was Marjory. He disliked relying on anyone. Especially when his liberty depended on her silence. Sometimes you had no choice. He had wanted to drag her into the shower room, close the door and rape and then stab her to death under the hot spray; gouge out the implants in her breasts and...and calm down for Christ’s sake! She was now his unwitting accomplice. He could use her again, if necessary. People with tons of money had contacts. Who knew what he might need. It was nice to have a rich relation to squeeze. No point in killing the golden goose. It might even prove useful to get rid of her husband at a later date. There were so many variables to consider. The immediate future was the main concern. He had to sweat it out and stay out of circulation for a while. He would stock up with provisions and not leave the cottage for a few weeks. By then, he and Julie would look completely different, and he would then be able to set about getting the necessary paperwork for them to adopt new identities.

  He tugged the bill of his cap down and pushed open the door of Tony’s Truck Stop. Both sides of the large room had Formica-topped tables and black, vinyl-covered benches. The place looked in need of a fresh coat of paint and new fittings. He could smell stale coffee, and fried food that was sputtering on a griddle.

  At the counter, a paunchy-looking guy with scars above his eyes and a misshapen nose – that had been broken so many times that it was almost flat and no longer in the centre of his face – turned a couple of eggs over and looked up with a surly expression.

  “Yeah, what can I get you?” Tony said with a nasal slur.

  “Two coffees, and two bacon sandwiches, please,” Lucas said. “To go.”

  “Be five minutes,” Tony said. “Take a seat.”

  Lucas dropped onto the nearest bench. It had been slashed and repaired with tape, and was as disfigured and lumpy as the man who Lucas assumed was the café’s owner.

  He watched the man ‒ whom he chose to believe was an ex-boxer ‒ as he put rashers of bacon in a large, black pan to turn them over after a few seconds with a spatula. Tony’s powerful looking hands were also scarred, on the knuckles. It didn’t take much imagination to peg him as a lowly-ranked pro that’d lost a lot more bouts than he had won, both in and outside the ring.

  Lucas felt ill at ease under the harsh fluorescence of the overhead tubes. He got up and went to the gents. The toilet was surprisingly clean, with the scent of pine disinfectant. He peed, washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. Dried off with paper towels from a wall dispenser.

  When he came out, his order was waiting in a brown paper bag on the counter. He paid for it and went back out into the welcoming darkness. Back at the car, he opened the boot and set the bag down next to Julie, then untied her and helped her out.

  She worked her shoulders, rotated her neck, and groaned as she straightened up. After a few hours cramped up on her side and being bounced about, she was stiff and aching. Her legs shook, and it took a lot of effort to stand.

  “Get in the front,” Lucas said. “I got us some hot coffee and something to eat.”

  Julie sat in the passenger seat and stretched her legs out. Carefully sipped the black brew, wincing at both the bitter taste and the pain in her top lip.

  Lucas was in no hurry. He waited until Julie had eaten her fill of the sandwich and finished her drink, then put the plastic cups in the bag, screwed it up and tossed it out of his window.

  “You want to ride up front with me, or go back in the boot?” Lucas said.

  “Stay here,” she said.

  “Fine. Just don’t get any fancy ideas, Julie. Lock your door and buckle up. Behave, and I will. Try anything, and you’ll be in a world of pain.”

  He pulled back onto the A40 and struck west. He planned on being at the cottage at about three in the morning. This was like being on a date. Something he hadn’t done since back when he had courted Sandra. Those early days with her had been good. If she had been faithful, then his life might have taken a different course. They used to enjoy driving away from the city and parking up in graveyards and picnic areas. And they almost always ended up making out under the stars. That was then, in a different life. The past was not real anymore. In some ways he was becoming increasingly disassociated with it: remembered it in the same way he recalled old movies. It had no substance. Now was what mattered. He felt that he had reached a defining moment. Maybe it would work out between him and Julie. She might be what he needed to give him a new focus on everything. She could be his salvation. He decided that he wanted to feel love again; to give and receive it without any reservation or inhibitions.

  Matt knocked at the door. Ethel answered it, then closed it on them again without saying a word and went to find Marjory. It was over two minutes before the door opened again.

  “What now?” Marjory said. “My husband is due home soon. I’d rather you were not here when he arrives.”

  Matt noted the fact that she had changed her outfit. She was now wearing a stone-coloured slash neck cable sweater, shin-length black wrap skirt and white leather mules. He also saw red marks on both of her cheeks, which could have been made by someone gripping her face. And her eyes looked a little puffy. She had been crying.

  “Then tell me the truth, Marjory,” Matt said. Then lied to her. “We received a report that Lucas was seen not far from here. That’s either a coincidence, or more likely that he was on his way to pay you a visit. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “He hasn’t―”

  “Be very careful what you say next. Intentionally withholding evidence in such a serious case would result in you being guilty of abetting a wanted murderer. Was it Lucas who marked your face?”

  Marjory’s shoulders sagged. She stepped back, and Matt and Pete entered the house for the second time that day.

  “We need to find him, Mrs. Walters,” Pete said, playing good cop to Matt’s bad. “He’s going to keep killing until we catch him. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “I went upstairs, and he was in my bedroom,” Marjory said. “He hurt me and demanded money.”

  “What else?” Matt said.

 
“That was it. He warned me not to contact the police, then left.”

  “How much money did you give him?”

  “Three thousand pounds.”

  “What did he do to you?” Pete asked.

  Marjory did not reply. Instead, she lifted her sweater and showed them the weeping burn on her stomach. Then with no warning or the slightest degree of embarrassment, slipped her left breast out of her bra.

  Matt and Pete were both shocked into temporary silence. The cigarette burns around the nipple were one of Downey’s trademarks.

  Covering up, Marjory gave them a pained smile. “My nephew’s behaviour leaves a lot to be desired. He took the money and said that if I went to the police, he would kill me. I believe without any reservation that he meant it. He doesn’t seem the type to issue idle threats.”

  “Did he say anything about where he might be going?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Inspector. Do you really think he would put his freedom in my hands? He came to hurt me and demand money.”

  There was nothing else. Pete took details of how Downey was dressed, and they found the point at which he had forced entry to the cellar.

  “A crime scene team will have to attend and gather any evidence that he might have left,” Matt said to Marjory.

  “Then between you and me, let’s treat this as an attempted burglary. I do not want Vincent to know anything about my relationship to Lucas.”

  “I can’t guarantee―”

  “Oh yes you can, Inspector Barnes. Should he contact me again, then I would have no incentive to help you find him, if my life has been fucked up by your having a loose tongue. Protect my reputation, and I’ll do everything possible to assist you.”

  “That sounds like blackmail.”

  “So did your implied threat to disclose my past to my husband. It’s a two-way street. I’m not some young, green behind the ears bimbo that you can bully into running off at the mouth. We either have an understanding, or I guarantee that I will never discuss Lucas again with you. And don’t try to lay-off my being in any way responsible for what he might do to any other scrubbers. I don’t give a shit about their lives. This is a self-preservation zone. Charity really does begin at home.”