Liar Liar_Another gripping serial killer thriller from the bestselling author

by Sarah Flint

  ‘It was made by one of our own, anonymously through “Right Line”. I’ve spoken to the DPS officer dealing with her case and he says there is evidence to substantiate the allegation, but we won’t find out who made it.’

  ‘Is it the same DPS officer as either of the other two?’

  ‘No, they’re all different.’

  Hunter got up and walked slowly towards his office, running his hands over his head. ‘I’ll ask DCI O’Connor to sound out the Chief at DPS and see what he thinks of each investigation.’ As he was about to disappear, Paul pushed the main door open and came in backwards, carrying a large bundle of paperwork.

  ‘Just finished at the post-mortem.’ Naz and Sabira went across to help him and he passed each of them some files.

  Hunter turned back towards him. ‘So, what’s Dr Crane’s verdict?’

  ‘Cookson died of shock, brought on by a combination of blood loss from his severed tongue and the movement of fluids to the burn sites on his abdomen and lower torso. The injury to his scalp was sustained by being hit with a blunt instrument, severe enough to have caused concussion, and he had several contusions to his arms, consistent with having been gripped hard. That and the amount of alcohol he had consumed would probably have meant he was unable to fight, never mind stage any sort of decent defence.’

  ‘Hopefully it would have dulled the pain too.’ Charlie winced.

  Paul shook his head, frowning. ‘I doubt anything would have dulled that pain, and he wouldn’t even have been able to shout for help. There were clear gag marks visible, so any screams would have been muffled. He then had his jaws forcefully prised open before his tongue was cut out, probably with sharp scissors.’

  ‘How did Dr Crane work that out?’ Hunter leant on the door frame.

  ‘Because there are scrape marks around his teeth and an indented mark on the severed tongue that shows it was gripped by a hard metal object, possibly pliers or the like. Both sides of the tongue are evenly sliced. If a knife or blade had been used, the underside would have been jagged. Due to the amount of blood around the face, neck and shoulders, Dr Crane says the amputation would have been carried out before the fire, impairing any further chance to call for help, if he was still conscious.’

  Hunter grimaced. ‘And the rest is as we thought?’

  ‘Yep.’ Paul snapped the pile of paperwork down on his desk with a groan. ‘Set on fire and left to burn until the flames died down. If he wasn’t already dead by that stage, he was almost certainly dead shortly afterwards.’

  The group lapsed into silence, before Hunter eventually spoke.

  ‘Go home troops, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Tomorrow morning, come in fresh and we’ll go through what we know. Or don’t. We have two suspects, three bodies and, so far, not much evidence. And there’ll be more; I can pretty much guarantee it. Our killer’s on a roll… and we’re spending our whole time playing catch-up.’

  *

  Ben was out when Charlie arrived at his flat half an hour later. There was no light burning within and no sign of him curled up on the sofa asleep. She was surprised, though she told herself she shouldn’t be, it was Saturday evening and she’d turned up unannounced. Ben was quite capable of making his own arrangements… but it was still unusual.

  She sat down on the wall outside, kicking her heels against the brickwork, suddenly restless. Something wasn’t right, in fact everything was wrong. She needed to be with someone tonight and this was the last thing she’d expected.

  A rich seam of frustration and anger was running through her head; even her limbs and muscles were twitchy. The ready ear and trusty shoulder on which she’d relied for so long was not there. It hadn’t been for months… and she missed it. She missed Ben. She missed his ready smile and the way he could lift her spirits with a single wink or cheeky comment.

  And Nick, for some reason, had stirred her up. She was annoyed at his absence today. Even though he was fully entitled to his day off, all the rest of the team had been there, prepared to go the extra mile.

  But what if Nick was right? Maybe she should be cultivating a social life instead of concentrating only on work. Maybe she should switch off from the demands of the job and think about her own needs.

  She stood up and stared along the road, willing Ben’s tall physique to turn the corner and walk towards her, but the street was quiet.

  On a whim, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled her mother’s number. Meg came on the line, a hint of concern in her voice.

  ‘Hi Charlie. This is a pleasant surprise. Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes I’m fine, Mum. Busy, but OK.’ She took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy for either of them. ‘Mum, you know when you were with Harry and he was drinking, before you split. How many chances did you give him?’

  There was a long pause, so long that only the absence of a click on the line reassured Charlie her mother was still there.

  ‘Is this about Ben?’ Meg asked eventually.

  ‘Mum, how many?’ She just needed to know.

  ‘Too many, Charlie. If it hadn’t been for him, Jamie might still…’ Charlie heard her mother’s voice catch, before she eventually continued. ‘He’d been drinking heavily even before the accident and then, afterwards, well it was his excuse to get absolutely off his head. I gave him far too many chances.’ She paused again. ‘Ben’s different though. He’s witnessed so much and he only turned to drink to try to forget. I’m not saying it will be easy, but Ben wants to recover… and is willing to put the effort in. I know he had a relapse, but he is trying again now. Harry couldn’t be bothered. He was happy to stay a drunkard.’

  ‘But what if Ben doesn’t want to go through it all again now? What if he never recovers from this latest setback? What if he’s happy to stay a drunk? How long should I wait?’ Or should I just give up. Maybe even Nick would be up for some fun? The thought kept repeating itself in her head.

  ‘I can’t answer that one for you, Charlie. I think you’ll just know if he’s worth the wait. He’s a good lad.’ Meg paused, and Charlie recalled Hunter saying exactly the same thing within the last few days. They both saw something in him that was worth fighting for. ‘But, Charlie,’ Meg sounded a note of caution, ‘only you will be able to see if Ben truly wants to recover. If you really think he isn’t bothered and is happy to stay a drunk… then don’t waste your life waiting.’

  Chapter 17

  Sunday 25th June 2017

  Parking up in the railway station car park, Charlie walked slowly towards Carl Hookham’s flat. Something was telling her he was back. Unable to sleep, she’d finally given in to her hunch. The roads were quiet; Sunday morning saw only a few elderly dog-walkers out and the last few minicabs wending their way home after a busy night’s work.

  The flat looked the same from the front as the last time they’d visited, but still the niggle persisted. The rear also appeared unchanged, the same tired curtains hanging from identical positions at the window. This time though the wheelie bin was back in the bin shed. She needed to gain entry into the block.

  The communal door was at the front of the building, with a box to the side containing letter boxes scrawled with the surname of each occupant. Hookham’s letter box was empty.

  Next to the frame was a chaotic array of doorbells, set askew and untidy, with a tradesmen button at the base of the barely legible labels. It buzzed her welcome at the press of her finger. Silently she climbed the stairs to the first floor, wincing at each creaky floorboard and squeaky stair.

  The door to Hookham’s room was shut and there was no sound coming from within, but a large gap at the base of the door gave her a partial view inside. Squeezing her head against the lino of the stairwell and squinting through one eye, she could just see the floor of his hallway. A pair of men’s shoes was positioned to one side, appearing to have been kicked off and lying on their uppers where they’d landed. Charlie had no idea whether they had been like this on their last visit, but what her
nose was telling her was that someone had been there recently. The smell of curry was unmistakeable and there was no doubt it was seeping through the gap under the door from within.

  She checked her watch and groaned. If he was their killer, she couldn’t risk losing him by attempting an arrest on her own, but, six-fifteen on a Sunday morning was not the best time to get help, with night duty about to knock off and early turn only just surfacing. Even Hunter and the team would not be in… and she didn’t yet know whether Hookham had only visited or if indeed he was still in there.

  Raking around in her pocket, she found the paper wrapper of a chewing gum and pulled it out, folding it carefully several times. At least this, placed carefully between the door and its frame, would prove whether anyone was coming and going. They could come back later and check for any movement and, if necessary, sit up and observe the place. It was unlikely Hookham would expect a visit on a Sunday.

  Operation complete, she tiptoed down the stairs again and made her way back to her car. Just time for a quick visit to Ben’s flat on her way into the office. She needed to know that he’d arrived home safely the previous night.

  The curtains to his flat, unlike Hookham’s, were drawn partially shut. He’d evidently returned at some point. She was about to leave when her curiosity got the better of her. What if she was waiting for him, but he wasn’t waiting for her? What if her presence was just too hard for him to deal with and he’d found another girl? As Meg had cautioned, she didn’t want to waste too much of her life on him, if he wasn’t bothered with her.

  A few steps later and she was at his window, telling herself she was just checking his welfare, after all he was quite capable of drinking himself unconscious. Peering in, she saw his shape curled up on the sofa, alone, where he preferred to rest when he knew his sleep was likely to be spasmodic. He was facing towards the window where she stood, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in time with his breathing. Every few seconds, his hand, hanging loose to his side, would twitch, the movement causing his whole arm to jerk towards the small coffee table at the centre of the room.

  Her eyes followed the direction of his hand movement, to where several cards and a mug stood carefully placed in a row on the table, directly in his line of vision. As she did so, a wave of guilt washed over her at the realisation that the cards and mug contained messages of encouragement and reassurance she herself had sent him over the last few months.

  *

  By the time Charlie got to the office, everyone, with the exception of Nick, was in. She quickly described to Hunter what she’d found at Hookham’s flat before he called everyone over. Bet had stuck photos of their three victims on a whiteboard, along with the names and images of their suspects. With two further victims, since Brian Ashton’s death, there was no time to waste. As they settled themselves into a semicircle around him he started.

  ‘Team, Charlie has been for a drive past Carl Hookham’s flat this morning, and she believes he might be back.’

  ‘Blimey, Charlie. Don’t you ever sleep?’ Paul stifled a yawn.

  She shrugged. It was always the same mid-case. Her mind didn’t stop working, even though her body had left the office.

  Hunter turned towards the others. ‘Naz, do we know yet if Hookham has any links to Leonard Cookson or Philippa McGovern?’

  Naz shook her head. ‘Sorry, boss, nothing at the moment, but I’m still working on it.’

  ‘And we’re still waiting for the results on the blood found in his vehicle.’

  ‘I’ve found something on Dennis Walters though, boss.’ Sabira straightened herself. ‘Philippa McGovern was the Inspector in charge of Lambeth CSU between 2006 and 2014, before she moved to Sutton… and, as we know, Walters is a drug user, with a history of abusive relationships. I’ve been looking through every domestic report Walters was involved in during that time. McGovern is shown as supervising one of the reports. It’s quite a nasty assault on a prostitute that he was believed to be pimping; according to the report, she was being given a roof over her head in exchange for sexual favours.’

  ‘Nice,’ Hunter leant forward in his chair, his brow creased. ‘And the result?’

  ‘The case was dropped after the prostitute; Angela Mousley, declined to substantiate the allegation. There’s nothing to suggest anyone tried to persuade her otherwise.’

  ‘I thought there was a positive action policy on domestic assaults in place then?’

  ‘Not, it seems, if the victim is a prostitute.’

  ‘Or Philippa McGovern was supervising.’ Hunter exhaled noisily. ‘Can we contact the officer in the case or Angela Mousley herself and see if either of them remembers what happened with the report?’

  Sabira nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’ve done that already, boss. Angela Mousley moved to Nottingham a few months after the case. She was arrested for prostitution and drug offences several times afterwards, but from 2014 she is shown on her PNC record as deceased; found dead from an overdose.’ She paused, glancing down at her notes. ‘And the officer in the case is now working in the Child Exploitation Unit. She remembered Mousley and Walters because they were always coming to notice. She said DI McGovern told her to get rid of the case on to the local St Mungo’s Team who deal with prostitutes and vulnerable women. She said it was a waste of their time prosecuting offences with prostitutes because the women would always go straight back to their violent pimps.’

  ‘Probably because they’re too broken to stand up for themselves.’ Naz tutted loudly.

  Sabira grimaced. ‘Agreed, but on this occasion the St Mungo’s Team were able to help. Mousley was relocated back to her home town.’

  ‘Not that it helped her a great deal, judging by her death.’ Hunter stood up and walked to the window, staring out across the roofs of the nearby estates. ‘We never deal with the problems. We just displace them.’

  ‘But at least it got her and her problems off DI McGovern’s back.’ Charlie snorted.

  ‘So…’ Hunter turned back towards Sabira. ‘Did Dennis Walters know who made the decisions? He might have blamed police for Mousley leaving him. Maybe he blamed DI McGovern personally for the decision to refer his girl on. He’d be losing street credibility, as well as money.’

  ‘Yes, I asked that, and the OIC was sure he did. Apparently, he made quite a nuisance of himself for some time afterwards, wanting to know where Mousley was. He demanded the names of all the officers in the case, including hers and the DI’s. Bearing in mind what has happened to McGovern now, she’s a bit worried for her own safety.’

  ‘And rightly so.’ Hunter jotted a note down on a piece of paper. ‘I’ll give her line manager a ring later and discuss any extra security she might need.’ He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. ‘In fact, I’ll get a briefing put out for all officers, particularly those with complaints, to be extra mindful around their own security until this is over. Well done, Sab. That’s enough to go after Dennis Walters. We’ll get a drugs warrant initially to get in and have a look around, but while we’re there we’ll have a quick word with him about his relationship with Angela Mousley and DI McGovern and this time we’ll be doing it on our terms. If he wants to play dirty, then we will too.’ He checked his watch and clapped his hands. ‘In the meantime, team, let’s go and find Carl Hookham, before he disappears again.’

  Chapter 18

  ‘I think he’s in there,’ Charlie whispered down the radio, having pressed herself against the lino in the stairwell again. ‘My marker’s been dislodged and the shoes are in a different position. He’s obviously been out but now he’s back.’

  ‘All units standby. Charlie, get ready to knock on the door,’ Hunter’s voice was clear. Charlie, Naz and Hunter were positioned at the door to the flat, Paul was deployed to the front of the house, checking the windows, and Sabira was watching the rear. Only Bet had remained in the office, fielding calls and continuing what research she could. Hunter had also purloined some uniform assistance in the shape of Charlie’s mate,
Bill Morley, and his partner off early turn to assist with the entry. ‘If the door opens and it’s Hookham, detain him. If any of you see him and he fails to answer, let me know immediately and the door will be put in.’

  ‘All received,’ Charlie nodded towards Bill who was positioned just to her side, holding on tightly to the enforcer. ‘Right, I’m knocking now.’

  She banged hard on the door twice, calling out Hookham’s name, but there was no reply. She knocked again and heard a scraping sound from within, followed by Paul’s voice bellowing on the radio. ‘All units, he’s trying to climb out of the front window.’

  ‘Go, go, go,’ Hunter shouted.

  Bill Morley didn’t need to be told twice. With a loud splintering of wood, the door frame buckled and the door was flung open, its lock shooting across the hallway and lodging against the wall opposite. Charlie roared into the front room and immediately saw Carl Hookham bending down at the window, one leg already across the sill. He appeared to freeze for a split second, giving her time to take the half a dozen steps across the room and grab hold of him. Naz was right behind her, taking hold of the back of his waistband, and together they dragged him backwards into the room. Thirty seconds later and their suspect was lying on the floor, his arms handcuffed behind him and his mouth curled up in anger.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going this time?’ Hunter stood staring down at him. ‘You don’t think we’d let you get away a second time, do you?’

  Hookham bit his bottom lip, before sneering at them. ‘It was worth a try, especially after kissing you lot goodbye the first time as you all stood gawping up at my flat. That was fucking quality.’ He turned towards Charlie as she bent down and took hold of him. ‘I shouldn’t have come back so soon, should I?’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Charlie pulled him up to a kneeling position. ‘But now you have, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Brian Ashton. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’