“A few more questions, to get things absolutely clear,” Dyson began.
“Is there any news about my son? I’m going out of my mind.”
This was a waste of time. They should be out there looking for Olly. Bella glared at them, willing them to argue so that she could let fly at them. “Isn’t that where your time would be better spent? He’s five, he’s alone out there, and you appear to have nothing better to do than pester me!” Her face turned red along with her rising anger. “I don’t know what you think I can tell you. I had no part in Alan’s death. I loved him. We planned to get married. You are looking in the wrong place!”
Dyson sat back in his chair, apparently unruffled by her outburst. “We never thought you did, Ms Richards. We want your help, that’s all. You see, Mr Fisher’s death is one in a string of six. So we need you to tell us every single thing you can recall about that day.”
He had a nice smile, and he seemed friendly enough. But Bella was gobsmacked. She struggled to take it in. “You’re telling me that Alan was the victim of some sort of serial killer? Does that mean he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
Dyson shook his head. “No, Fisher was targeted. In your original statement you said that the man who came for Alan Fisher knew his name. He knew he had a wife. He also knew where to find you on that station. It was the rush hour. There must have been hundreds of folk hanging about. Therefore he knew what you both looked like. That takes research.”
Bella was taken aback. She hadn’t given it that much thought. “That means that the policeman who took him away — he killed Alan?”
“At this time we are presuming so.”
“And he’s done this before?”
“Yes. He always uses the same method to kill his victims, but the way they are taken differs. To date, Ms Richards, you are the only witness who has seen him face to face.”
Bella closed her eyes. She saw that this was important, but her nerves were so on edge she couldn’t think. She desperately tried to recall every little detail, but her head was a mess. She couldn’t see anything beyond Olly, and what might have happened to him.
“I was surprised by his sudden appearance, we both were. To me, he looked like any other policeman.” She knew this wasn’t helping. “There was nothing odd about his uniform. He had a badge, a radio. He looked the business. When he said why he wanted Alan, told us about his wife, we didn’t think to ask questions. Alan went with him and I got the train back to Huddersfield. I was worried when he didn’t ring me. Later that night I heard about what had happened on the radio.”
Dyson nodded. “He’s a cool bugger, our killer, and no mistake. Can you describe him?”
“Not really. All I remember is the uniform. The short sleeved white shirt and the vest thing they wear.”
“Accent? Hair colour, anything?”
“He sounded local, northern. I think his hair was fair, but I can’t be sure. We were so wrapped up in what he was telling us, I didn’t register what he looked like.” The superintendent seemed to accept this. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything that will help. It happened so fast. He was a policeman. I didn’t imagine for one moment that he was taking Alan away to kill him!”
She dabbed at her eyes. Bella was annoyed with herself. She’d looked the man full in the face, she knew she had. So why couldn’t she remember anything else about him?
“We are looking for your son,” Dyson assured her. “We have people out there. He will feature on the local news later today. We would also like you to do an appeal that will go out nationwide.”
Bella’s nerves began to twitch again. “No! I can’t do that,” she protested at once. Then she saw their surprise. “I wouldn’t be good enough. It wouldn’t have the right effect.” The three men looked at each other. “Is Alan’s death linked to Olly’s disappearance?” She tried a change of subject, to get them off her back regarding an appeal.
“The truth is, we don’t know. But it’s too much of a coincidence, and I’m not happy about it. What’s the name of Oliver’s father?”
“Gabe Parker,” Bella replied.
“Do you think his dad could have taken him?”
“No,” Bella replied firmly. “He lives in the north of Scotland, a job on the rigs. you’re looking in the wrong place. Gabe enjoys his freedom. He’s not interested in being a parent. We don’t see or hear very much from him.”
Bella looked at Nolan, who hadn’t said a word throughout the interview. “What do you think?”
He leaned forward. “I think we have to trust that Superintendent Dyson knows what he is doing.”
“You said this man had killed before. Did children go missing with any of the others?”
Dyson shook his head.
“Okay, Ms Richards, we will talk about this again. Thanks for your input.”
* * *
Robert Nolan drove her home. Bella sat beside him thinking about the police interview and what Dyson had told her. Once again, her fingers fiddled with the locket.
“Alan gave you that?” Robert broke the silence.
“It was his grandmother’s.”
“I remember her. She used to go to tea with Alan and Anna every Sunday. A tall, thin woman with short hair and a shorter temper. Anna had no time for her.”
Bella shrugged. “I’ve never met Anna, nor any other member of Alan’s family. I’ve seen photos though. Anna is very attractive. She must hate me.”
“She’s okay. You needn’t worry about her. She won’t interfere. Anna is well aware that Alan’s money is going elsewhere.”
“Have the police spoken to her?”
“Yes, but there isn’t much she can tell them. The last time she saw Alan was when he left for the train that morning.”
“I still think she must hate me.”
“Anna isn’t like that. She’s a sensible woman. She knew her marriage was over.”
* * *
Dyson and DC Beckwith sat on in the interview room after Bella and Nolan had left.
“She asked if kids had gone missing in the other cases, guv,” Beckwith said.
“So what? They didn’t. I told her the truth.”
“You didn’t tell her about the dog.”
“Would serve no purpose, other than to put the fear of God into her.”
“It is similar though.”
“It was a bloody dog, son, not a kid!”
“Just saying.” Beckwith coughed.
Dyson knew very well what the young DC was getting at. One of the earlier victims, one of those with a green stamp on her arm, looked after a dog all day while its owner went out to work. Shortly before the old woman was killed, the animal disappeared. It turned up a couple of days later, skinned, and hanging from an oak tree in a local wood, with its collar still around its neck. Dyson guessed that the killer presumed the dog had belonged to the woman he murdered.
A uniformed officer entered the room. “Phone call for you, sir. It’s Matt Brindle.”
Chapter 9
Evelyn Brindle called out to her son. “We’ve got company. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was Talbot.”
“It is Talbot, Ma. I rang him a couple of hours ago and invited him round.”
His mother was peering from behind the curtains at the car coming up the drive. He saw the look. She was dying to ask, but was biting back the questions. Matt knew that his mother was terrified of him returning to the force. She didn’t like his plans for the house much either, but they were preferable to him going back to CID.
“It’s okay. I just want some information, that’s all. He won’t be here long.”
The murder of Alan Fisher intrigued him. He’d known the man, not well or for long, but they’d got on. If he hadn’t been killed, Matt was sure he’d have seen him again. He wanted to know what his old team in CID were doing to catch the culprit. He also wanted to know if they were linking the disappearance of Bella’s son to the murder.
Superintendent Dyson’s car came
to a halt outside the front entrance, and Matt went to meet him.
Dyson’s thick Yorkshire accent boomed out at him. “DI Brindle. Or are you masquerading as ‘Lord Brindle’ these days? Quite the country gentleman, aren’t you? All you’re short of is the hacking jacket and brogues. Seriously though, great place you’ve got here. I’d forgotten how big it is.”
Brindle smiled. “It’s not me with the title, that’s my mother. My father was made a life peer — services to charity. Now that he is dead, my mother retains the title. She’s ‘Lady Brindle.’ It has nothing to do with me. I inherit nothing but this pile.”
“Bloody shame, if you ask me. A title would go well with this old house.”
Matt changed the subject. “Good of you to come, Talbot.”
“Aye, lad, particularly after you ignored all my emails. Yer wouldn’t take my calls, and dismissed my invitation to come in and talk. I tried bloody hard, but you were ’aving none of it.”
“Sorry, sir, nothing personal.” It had been short-sighted of him. Matt should have known there’d come a day when he’d want something from Talbot. His interest in Fisher’s murder and the snatching of Bella’s son wouldn’t go away. He put it down to the cop in him. That, and having met them both.
“How’s your mother? Sick of you yet, is she?”
“Getting there, Talbot. I’m not a good patient. Come in. She’ll be pleased to see you. And I really am sorry, I should have got back to you. At least we could have had that conversation.” Matt led Dyson up the steps.
“Never mind, lad. We’re talking now, and I enjoyed the ride out here. These parts are much more pleasant than Leeds. Your place is in a lovely spot, up here in the hills.”
They stood together at the front entrance. From here the gardens swept down to the lake, the well-tended lawn punctuated with colourful flowerbeds. Right in the centre, and drawing the eye, was a large, ornate fountain.
“I’m planning some development. We’re going to open part of the house and the grounds to the public.”
“Got to admire your ambition. Your mother up for that?” Talbot Dyson sounded dubious.
“It’s a necessary evil, I’m afraid. The family, and the estate, need the money.”
“So why am I ’ere? What are you after, lad?”
“Information. The team in Huddersfield are currently working on a case I’m interested in, the Alan Fisher murder. Carlisle’s got it, I believe.”
Dyson grimaced. “Not any more. Things have moved on. The case is mine now. Alan Fisher was killed by an old friend of ours. The ‘Mr Apology’ killer. Remember him?”
Matt did. Another team had been working on the case when he’d still been active. “Same gun? Shot in the temple? Same mark on his arm?”
Dyson nodded. “A blue stamp this time, the Chinese letters for the word ‘sorry,’ like with the others.”
“I’m interested because I knew Alan. Not well, but well enough to know he was a good sort. He came here to help me with the computer network for the business. I was at his funeral and I met Bella Richards there.” Matt smiled.
“We interviewed her this morning. She doesn’t remember owt. Her son’s gone missing now. I’m praying he doesn’t end up like the mutt.”
Matt frowned. “So am I, Talbot. But the fact he’s been taken has got to be significant.”
“We don’t know for sure that the two are linked.”
“But your gut is telling you they are?” Matt asked.
“Of course they are. You don’t think so?”
Matt nodded. “You’ve been involved with this case since the first murder. I have merely dipped in and out along the way. But there are things about these killings that bother me.”
“Careful, lad, you’re not one of the team anymore.”
“I can’t help it. I knew him. I know about the ‘apology’ killings. I hear and read stuff in the news and to be honest, Talbot, I can’t make sense of it.”
The two men walked the length of the wide hallway and into a spacious drawing room. The furnishings were opulent, all velvet curtains and sofas. The wallpaper was heavy and elaborate, and was covered with large oil paintings. Dyson stood open-mouthed in front of a portrait above the giant marble fireplace.
“That wasn’t there, the last time I was here. Nice-looking girl.” He turned to Brindle. “Relative of yours?”
“An ancestor, yes. That’s Julianna, wife of Josiah Brindle.”
“Didn’t believe in covering herself up, did she?” He nodded at the woman’s ample décolletage. “A bit chilly up ’ere in Yorkshire for going about like that.”
“Julianna was a well-known beauty of her day. She was also an outrageous flirt. That was painted in 1802. We rotate the paintings, that’s why you won’t have seen it. As we do with a lot of the furniture. We’ve got loads of stuff stashed in the cellars.”
Dyson turned a full circle. “You must have a fortune on these walls. All this antique furniture would fetch a bit too. That cabinet over there,” he nodded, “I’m no expert, but I know that’s Moorcroft. The room’s stuffed to the gills with the stuff. Why don’t you raise money by selling some of it?”
“We can’t. It’s a clause inserted in all the Brindle wills, right from the earliest ones. The collection has to stay put. And it is expected that the incumbent of the day will add to it. So far, I’ve done very little in that respect.”
Dyson stopped in front of another portrait. “Is this the lad himself?”
“Yes, that’s Josiah Brindle, the man responsible for the whole thing — the woollen mill and the estate. He was a manufacturer of worsted cloth. He built the mill, this house and the cottages you saw along the lane as you drove up here. They were once millworker’s cottages. He employed most of the folk around here. The portrait next to him is his son, Walter. Now he really got the enterprise going. He was one of the investors in the Standedge Tunnel. It made him a lot of money. It carried all sorts of goods and machinery by canal underneath the Pennines, from Manchester to Huddersfield and back again, including our wool. That tunnel really turned a corner for the Brindle family. No longer did they have to cart everything by pack-horse over them hills.”
“Quite a history lesson. I bet the punters will lap it up when you get the place up and running.” Dyson looked at him. “So what’s up, Matt? Why are you really so interested in this case? Is it the connection with Fisher, or is it the job?”
Matt turned to his friend. “Not the job. I’m done with the force. You can see how I’m fixed.” He rubbed his leg. “Still gives me trouble. You know how I feel too — after Paula . . .”
“I know how you felt after you were attacked, and I can’t say I blame you. But you are a copper at heart. You might try to stay away, bury your head in refurbishing the estate, building your business. But it’s not working, is it?”
Matt’s old super was right. He had seen right through him. The job was all he’d ever wanted. It still niggled at him, and it wouldn’t let up.
“After what happened to Paula, I swore I’d never go back.”
“You knew our Paula well enough to appreciate that’s not what she’d want. She’d want you back in the job, getting stuck in. If she could see you now, she’d have a right go.”
“It’s not that simple though, is it? It would be difficult to go back now. There’s my mother for a start. She is dead set against it. After all she has done for me, it would be a slap in the face to her. Plus, I submitted my resignation letter to you over three months ago. Even you can’t square that one.”
“You mean this?” Talbot Dyson’s craggy face split in a grin. He took a dog-eared envelope from his pocket and held it aloft. “Sorry, Matt. I hung onto it. Naughty of me I know, but you were too strung out back then. I couldn’t let you make such a huge decision in haste.”
“So what does it mean? Am I in or out?”
“You’re still one of us, Matt. If you want to be, that is. I wrote you off for the duration on a combination of illness and compassi
onate grounds. A short visit to occupational health just to sign you off, and you’re back.”
“Talbot! You really are a piece of work!”
Matt smiled. He hadn’t felt this good in weeks. He was within a spit of getting his old life back and Talbot was on his side. Matt wanted with his whole being to say yes. Then his smile faded. How could he? His confidence was shot. He was still suffering from panic attacks that came on without warning. The doctor put it down to post-traumatic stress. If he did go back, how would he cope? He didn’t want to let anyone down when things got tough.
“The truth is, I need you, Matt.” Talbot Dyson took a breath. “I’ll do you a deal, make it a little easier. No need to set anything in stone just yet. Give it a try for a week or two, and see how you feel. I’ll give you a piece of the Fisher case to get stuck into. After that, we can discuss it some more.”
Chapter 10
Bella was staring out of the window at the back garden, her forehead resting against the windowpane. It was early spring so the flower beds were empty. The lawn was waterlogged from all the rain they’d had recently. The entire view was desolate. Which was exactly how she felt.
Alison Wray coughed discreetly from the doorway. “You have a visitor, Bella. He says he’s a colleague. Do you want to see him?”
Who is it now? Bella didn’t want visitors but still they came. She had not lived here long, just over two years, but people were friendly and by now they’d all heard about what had happened. So they visited. They brought flowers, meals, cake, wine. They were trying to cheer her up, but it was a thankless task. Only Oliver, back home safe and sound, would make her smile again.
She sighed. “Yes, let him in. Are those reporters still outside?”
Alison nodded. “Just a couple of die-hards left. A man from the Chronicle and someone from the Leeds papers.” She paused. “You do realise that the national media are onto this now? Before long you’ll have the daily papers on your case.”
That worried Bella. The last thing she wanted was to have her face splashed across the tabloid press.
His Third Victim Page 4
