The Killer's Girl: A completely nail-biting crime thriller (Detective Morgan Brookes Book 2)

by Helen Phifer

  ‘Don’t mind him, he’s nosey. Aren’t you, Max?’

  The bird flapped its wings.

  Fascinated, Morgan watched him. ‘Is he answering you?’

  ‘God knows, I like to think so. I think birds are a lot cleverer than we give them credit for; well, he certainly is.’

  ‘Hello, Morgan, I’ve been waiting for you.’

  A feeling of déjà vu washed over her. Hadn’t Angela Hardy said almost exactly the same thing? Morgan opened the gate and walked along the path.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I had a feeling yesterday. I knew something was wrong and, whilst I’m happy to see you again, I fear you’re not here for a social visit. Or maybe I’m completely wrong and you’ve come for some more of my sleep-better tea.’ Ettie turned and walked inside. She followed her.

  ‘Please, take a seat. I insist I make a pot of tea before we start.’

  ‘I think brandy or something stronger might be better. Unless you have coffee; I’d love a cup of that.’

  ‘I have both, although I’m more of a gin drinker. Which one will it be?’

  ‘Coffee, please.’

  Ettie busied herself making drinks and Morgan took her time looking around. The shelves full of jars of herbs and whatever else were mesmerising. There was a shelf with baskets of different crystals and she wanted so much to reach out and touch them all. There was also a bookshelf stuffed with old books on plants, herbs, gardening and healing. She let out a huge sigh. This little cottage was like something out of a fairy tale and it had the most comforting feeling inside it.

  Ettie carried over two mugs and placed one on the battered pine chest in front of Morgan. Going back to the kitchen, she carried over a plate of cake, stuffed with buttercream and jam.

  ‘You made this? It looks amazing.’

  Ettie shook her head. ‘Gosh no. M&S make better cakes than I do. But that’s our little secret.’

  ‘So, Morgan, what brings you back here?’

  From out of nowhere came a loud sob, so violent it racked her entire body. Ettie rushed over to her. Gently holding her hand, she sat next to her on the soft, grey leather sofa.

  ‘Oh dear, are you okay, flower?’

  She shook her head, gulped and whispered: ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.’

  ‘It’s okay, your job must be difficult. You must see some tragic, awful things at work and then you’re supposed to go home and carry on as if nothing has happened, when all the time you can’t switch off because the awful images are there, in your head, and you can’t get rid of them.’

  ‘Ettie, you seem so lovely. I need to tell you this isn’t strictly linked to the murder I’m investigating; I want you to know that. I don’t want to lie to you. I want to be honest with you.’

  Ettie nodded. ‘I know, I also think I know why you’re here.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘You look so much like her; I only met her a handful of times but she was a beautiful woman.’

  ‘Sylvia?’

  ‘No, I imagine she was a lovely lady but I’m talking about your birth mother.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I knew this day would come; I knew from the day it happened and you were taken away that you’d be back. I’ll tell you everything I can. I don’t see what harm it can do. I’m sorry too for your loss. When I read about Stan Brookes’s murder, I knew you would come looking. I had decided a very long time ago as long as you were old and mature enough to handle the details that I would tell you everything when the time came.’

  Ettie passed Morgan a handful of tissues and she took them, dabbing her eyes then blowing her nose.

  ‘Do you know about your birth father?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Gary was my younger brother; there were just the two of us. Growing up, he had some issues that my mother and aunt tried to brush away. They idolised him and didn’t see the way he would switch off and turn into someone completely different. They’d make him drink cup after cup of camomile tea, which he hated, and instead of getting him professional help they let him get worse and worse. I’m not saying it’s their fault. I loved them dearly; they were wonderful. But there are some things that can’t be ignored or brushed under the carpet. I think they thought it was a passing phase, that getting caught peeping in girls’ windows was what teenage boys did.’

  ‘When he met Janet, he seemed to settle down: as far as we knew, he had. Then she got pregnant with your brother, Taylor; a couple of years later you came along. Did you know you were called Skye? I don’t blame Sylvia for changing your name. If I’d have got custody of you both, I would have done exactly the same. I tried; I really did. I wanted to take you both on and bring you up. The courts wouldn’t let me because of how serious Gary’s crimes were. They wanted you removed from the family for your protection. It was heartbreaking. Even though I only saw you both a few times, I still loved you.’

  Morgan was trying to absorb what Ettie was telling her.

  Ettie continued. ‘Thankfully, my mother and aunt had both died by the time Gary murdered Janet. The shock would have probably killed them anyway. How did you find out about me?’

  ‘I spent ages scouring the Internet and the reports of the murder, then I tried the court case and was clutching at straws really. I was hoping I might see someone I recognised that I could ask about it, and there was one picture of you. Gary was on his way into court and he turned to look at you.’

  ‘It was hard; despite everything he’s my brother. We got on okay, nothing more than the usual sibling arguments. I felt like I had to let him know I was still there for him, even though it broke my heart what he did to Janet and those other women.’

  ‘I need to find Taylor. Do you know anything at all about him? How did you know that Stan and Sylvia had adopted me? Did you know who I was the last time I visited? I’m sorry, there are so many questions and I only have you to ask.’

  ‘I knew you were adopted by a family called Brookes who lived in Kendal, because there are things you find out around here without a lot of effort. I had no idea when you visited last time to investigate the Potters’ murders that you were Skye. Why would I? Although you did look a little familiar. You’re called Morgan now and I didn’t connect the two together. But looking at you today, I realised who you were.’

  ‘What about Taylor?’

  She shook her head. ‘He was taken into care out of the county. I think it’s despicable they split you both up. You should have stayed together. If you’d come to me, you would have. He probably wondered why he wasn’t good enough to go with you. I imagine he’s carried that around with him his whole life.’

  Morgan felt a surge of sadness for the brother she didn’t remember. It was unfair but it didn’t mean that Gabby Stevens or Stan should have died because of it. And where did that leave her? Did he want to kill her too? An icy cold shiver ran down the full length of her spine.

  ‘I don’t know what to do about any of it. My whole life has been thrown upside down. I’ve lost everyone I ever cared about only to find I have a monster for a father.’

  Ettie squeezed Morgan’s hand. ‘You have me. Now you’ve found me I’m here for you. You’re welcome here anytime; it would be lovely to get to know you. I’ve waited so long for this.’

  Morgan smiled at her.

  ‘Now, eat that cake and drink your coffee because you look as if you haven’t eaten a good meal in days. You need to keep your strength up to do the job you do.’ She picked up the side plate and passed it to her. Morgan realised she was pretty hungry and ate every bit of it, then washed it down with the coffee, which tasted heavenly.

  Ettie stood up and went to her wall of glass jars. Returning with a couple, she handed them over along with a scrap of paper: a phone number written neatly across it. ‘I think you might still have those bad dreams, especially with all this new information, but hopefully as time goes on and you begin to heal they’ll get fewer. This is soothe-yourself tea, same instructi
ons as last time. Steep a couple of teaspoons in hot water before bed with a drop of honey to sweeten it. I also want you to have my phone number, so you can ring me whenever you need to.’

  Morgan took it. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m here for you, Morgan, whenever you need me. I always have been, you just didn’t know it.’

  She stood up. ‘I know. I’m sorry, I have to go but I’ll come back when I can.’ Reaching out, she pulled Ettie towards her and hugged her tight. She smelt of lavender and lemon, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Family, she smelt of family.

  As she left and walked back down the garden path, the raven was still sitting watching her. It was a bit of a trek to get back to her car but it had been worth it. A thought crossed her mind: had she unwittingly put Ettie in danger by coming here? If the killer was Taylor and he’d killed Stan because of her, what was to stop him doing the same to Ettie? Then where did Gabby come into this? Was this some grudge harboured since childhood against her because he got sent away and she didn’t and, if so, did it mean he was going to kill everyone she cared about? If it did, it meant he knew a whole lot more about her than she knew about him. She prayed not: the thought of finding a brother she never knew she had, only to have to lock him up and send him to prison for life, unnerved her.

  She realised she was scared for the few people she did care about. Would he go after Ben and Amy? What did this mean for her? Was it hereditary? After all, she was a killer’s daughter. Was it like a disease growing and spreading inside of her until one day it couldn’t be contained? Pain shot through her chest so intense it made her double over to catch her breath. No, she would never hurt anyone unless she had to in a life-or-death situation. She couldn’t kill someone for fun.

  There was only one person who she trusted; she needed to tell Ben all of this.

  FORTY-FIVE

  He couldn’t wait any longer; the feeling when it came was undeniable. It wouldn’t be soothed away with reading a book or drinking alcohol: he’d tried both plenty of times. As he drove to the large house his next girl lived in, he knew that he was putting himself at risk of being caught, but he couldn’t help it. This thought made what he was about to do even more delicious; imagine how Morgan was going to feel, knowing he’d been that close to her. That whilst she was moping around feeling sorry for herself about Stan, he’d been strangling the woman in the flat above her. He stopped the car. If he was feeling this risky, why stop now?

  Pulling out the heavy box from underneath the seat, he opened it and took out the phone. He looked around to see where he was, because he’d been on autopilot and hadn’t taken any notice of his surroundings. He was so consumed with the desire to kill again. He’d stopped in the middle of Kendal: a small side street off the main road through town. He was far enough away from Rydal Falls that it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference if he sent one message and turned it back off. He pressed the side button, waiting for the phone to come to life and realised that it may well have died; it hadn’t been charged for days. Then it came to life and he smiled: it was meant to be. The low battery alert beeped as soon as the home screen came on. It was on three per cent battery. He typed quickly:

  Do you know? On my way to see my next girl, maybe see you soon.

  It sent and the screen went black as the phone powered itself off. Even though it had no charge, he put it back into the box. There was taking risks for the good of his plans and there was being stupid. He wasn’t stupid.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to play this. How good his sister, Morgan Brookes, was at being a detective. He knew enough that she was on the right path, but he didn’t know exactly how much she’d discovered about him and their past life. Maybe she was oblivious, too overwhelmed with her grief for Stan that she was at home feeling sorry for herself. Somehow, he didn’t think she would be. From what he knew about her she was driven. He thought about being completely brazen and parking outside for everyone to see, and then decided against it. His mother would be mortified at his actions and the path he’d chosen, after all those years of trying to banish all the bad thoughts from his head by making him repeat Bible verses and attend church with her. How he’d hated her dragging him to every church function, Bible classes and Sunday School. He supposed she’d done her best. She had known all about his father and been terrified he would turn out like him. Well, he had, because everything she had put him through had the opposite effect on him. He hadn’t turned to God to be his saviour; he’d ended up hating everything that He stood for. The day he’d come home drunk after being to his friend’s fifteenth birthday party, she’d been enraged by his behaviour. This had set her off on one of her biblical rants and, despite the room spinning from the large amount of cheap vodka he’d drunk, the name she’d let slip had stayed with him. He heard her high-pitched voice in the back of his head and lifted his hands to his ears to block it out. Years of looking after you, nurturing you and hoping you’d turn to God and be a good boy have been a complete waste. You’re going to be just like him, just like that monster Marks and you’ll burn in hell together.

  He’d stumbled upstairs to bed, but it had somehow stuck in his mind. Who was that monster, Marks? He didn’t know what she was talking about. He’d vomited twice in the toilet then collapsed into bed with the room spinning so bad he’d ended up retching into the waste bin by his desk. When he woke up, he didn’t remember the party, but he did remember what she had said, and when he could see straight enough to focus on the screen of his knackered phone, he’d googled ‘Monster Marks’. What had come up had shocked even him. Underneath several links to an art museum in Memphis and an advert for some Monster socks and energy drinks, he’d seen a headline that had caught his eye: ‘Cold-hearted monster Gary Marks nicknamed the Riverside Rapist was in court today for the final verdict on the lengthy trial.’

  He’d read the article, wondering if this was what she meant. He didn’t think she was referring to an art museum. It had played on his mind and eventually he’d gone around asking his friends who had much younger, normal mothers if they remembered the Riverside Rapist. They had and would then tell him tales about what it was like following the news at the time of the attacks, the horror and fear. This should have scared him; at the very least repulsed him. It hadn’t; it had excited him beyond anything he’d ever known and given him hope that he had a life outside of his mother’s strict regime.

  He decided to leave his car in a busy street near to where E lived. He hadn’t spent years being discreet to go and blow it when he was so close. He would walk the rest of the way. There was a field separating the house from the street where he’d left his car and he decided to cut across it. Less chance of anyone seeing him approach, and it would take him straight to the rear garden, where he could watch and wait until it was time. He enjoyed this part; the watching was almost as much fun as the killing.

  FORTY-SIX

  Ben drove straight to Morgan’s. He needed to speak to her. Where the hell was she and why hadn’t she answered his calls? She needed to know about her family. He thought he knew her well enough that he’d know if she was genuinely taken aback by it all or whether she had been lying to him all along. He tried phoning her several times, but it went straight to voicemail, and he couldn’t help wondering what she was doing. His mind was in turmoil. He couldn’t bear the thought of her not being the person he had got to know and trust. He also needed to go to the college. There was a chance that Gabby Stevens had met her killer there, and that brought him back to the connection with Amy’s cousin’s boyfriend, Isaac, who had told Morgan he lectured at the college. He had never felt so alone in his entire life. He was running two murder investigations practically on his own. He had a bad feeling about Isaac Cross; they still hadn’t confirmed his alibi for the night Gabby was killed. He would follow up on that and speak to him first. Could he possibly be Morgan’s brother? How did he broach the subject with him of being adopted? If he was totally innocent, it wouldn’t matt
er in the least, but if he was Taylor Marks then that would be like telling him that he knew who he was. The only links they had were that Gabby and Stan both frequented The Golden Ball, but John’s alibi had checked out. The connection both Gabby and Isaac had to the college also needed clarifying. Gabby’s friends had said she had a crush on her teacher, but he had no tangible evidence to bring him in for questioning and, if he did without firm proof, it would send Amy over the edge. None of it explained Stan’s death though: he had no links to the college.

  Ben could feel the pressure behind his eyes mounting. It felt as if his brain was overheating and about to explode. He needed to speak to Morgan. He was putting everything at risk by asking Declan to sit on the information he’d told him. Where the hell was she? He drove through the gates and parked next to a blue Mini which wasn’t Morgan’s. As he reached the front door, a woman came rushing out with a stack of books under one arm.

  ‘Sorry, I’m late. Can I help you?’

  ‘I’ve come to visit Morgan; she lives in the ground-floor flat.’

  ‘Ah, right. I don’t think she’s here; at least her car isn’t.’ She kept the door open for him and stepped to one side. ‘But you’d better knock. Sometimes she turns up in all sorts of different cars. I think she must work at a garage.’

  Ben laughed. ‘Actually she’s a detective, but you better not tell her I told you that.’

  ‘Really, wow. I need to speak to her then. I’ve been thinking about joining the police; I always fancied being a police sketch artist.’

  He realised that Morgan was probably going to kill him for this and he should have kept quiet.

  ‘Anyway, I better get going. I don’t want to miss the start of class again.’

  ‘Do you go to college?’

  ‘Yes, the sixth form. Well, I teach an art class there. It’s not as enjoyable as I hoped; I need a different career: something a little more exciting.’