SHE: A gripping serial killer detective thriller (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 1)

by Pete Brassett

  As was the suitcase. She dragged the box of crockery from the front of wardrobe, managing, just, to open one door.

  ‘Well?’ said Munro, impatiently. ‘Are you satisfied, now?’

  ‘Empty,’ she said, closing the door. ‘Okay, we can…

  She stopped, mid-sentence, glanced at Munro and stood aside.

  ‘You’d better take a look at this.’

  Munro stepped forward, heaved the crockery into the hall and swung the door open wide. Pinned to the back was a photograph of Harry, colour, old style, the kind that came from a roll of film. Next to it, a web page printed on plain paper advertising a second-hand lawnmower for sale and above that, an image of a half-naked man, oriental in appearance, slumped on a sofa.

  ‘Chantheman,’ whispered Munro. ‘Thanks, Charlie.’

  ‘What for?’ said West.

  ‘For being so stubborn. If you hadn’t insisted on looking…’

  ‘There’s something else, look, behind the print of Chan, sticking out the bottom.’

  Munro lifted it to reveal a newspaper clipping.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said West. ‘Is that…’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Why would she… Christ, she knew, didn’t she? She knew you were on to her.’

  ‘Either that, or she’s in to older men,’ said Munro. ‘Might have a found a nicer picture, though, don’t you think?’

  ‘So, what now?’ said West. ‘I mean, it’s her, right? She’s the one who killed…’

  ‘Looks like it, Charlie. It certainly looks like it.’

  ‘We need to find her, before she strikes again, put out an appeal, see if anyone’s…’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro. ‘She’ll not strike again, trust me. We’ll do an appeal if we don’t find her, but not yet. I want a word with Delgado first. Look, you get back, make sure he’s comfortable and tell him I’ll be there in the morning, now. Do him good to sweat a while.’

  ‘On my way. Then what?’

  ‘Then take yourself home, Charlie, it’s been a long day. Get some rest.’

  * * *

  Having entrusted Sergeant Cole with the task of despatching the evidence to the lab, West fleetingly contemplated a drink in The Duke then winced at the thought of sharing her bed with someone young enough to be her son. Instead, she stopped at the newsagent, asked for a bottle of Smirnoff Red, a pack of Marlboro Lights, and rifled through her pockets in search of her purse.

  ‘Going to have a good night?’ said the man behind the counter, leering at her bust, his English, at best, pigeon. ‘You make party, yes?’

  West glowered at his stubble-ridden face, shaved head and tombstone teeth.

  ‘Stuff it,’ she said, turning for the door. ‘I don’t need it.’

  CHAPTER 17

  SPRATT HALL ROAD, WANSTEAD. 6:52am

  ‘I think you’ve cracked him, James.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Sean,’ said D.I. Ashford. ‘He’s a broken man. Defeated. Been pulling his hair out all night, what there is of it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Munro, trying to remove his coat with the phone in one hand. ‘You’ll have to be more specific, Jeff, I’ve not even had my tea, yet.’

  ‘Is your memory going? Hannah Lawson. Nothing, zilch, zero, nada. She does not exist.’

  ‘What? But that’s impossible…’

  ‘Oh, it’s possible, James. And unfortunately for you, it’s true.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro. ‘There must be something, bank account for a start, her salary has to be…’

  ‘Not if she’s not paid,’ said Ashford.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s a volunteer, James.’

  Munro, clenching his teeth in frustration, looked to the ceiling and rubbed the back of his neck, as D. I. West, looking surprisingly fresh, arrived at her desk.

  ‘Well, what about council tax,’ he said. ‘Utilities, there must be…’

  ‘Not sure if you’re going to like this,’ said Ashford, drawing a breath. ‘But there’s only one person registered at that address, and it’s not her. Bloke by the name of Farnsworth-Brown, initial ‘hotel’…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And all the bills are paid in cash, over the counter, at the Post Office.’

  ‘This smells like a trawler in Tobermory,’ mumbled Munro. ‘Deeds? House deeds?’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘You mean the house is in his name?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Munro fell silent as he struggled to find a connection between Harry, Lawson and the house.

  ‘You still there?’ said Ashford.

  ‘Aye. Sorry, Jeff,’ said Munro. ‘How about the phone?’

  ‘No landline.’

  ‘Good grief, man, a mobile, then? She must have an account, to access the internet.’

  ‘You know the answer to that, James,’ said Ashford. ‘Pay-as-you...’

  ‘Yes, yes. Mother of God,’ said Munro, as the other phone rang. ‘Charlie, get that will you? Jeff, is there nothing on the social? Facebook or…’

  ‘Nothing so far. Sean’ll have another pop when he wakes up but I doubt he’ll get anywhere. If you ask me, this girl does not want to be found.’

  ‘Right enough, Jeff. Right enough.’

  * * *

  Munro eased himself into his chair, sighed and looked at the clock.

  ‘It’s not even seven o’clock,’ he said. ‘I need some coffee.’

  West smiled knowingly and reached for the kettle as Sergeant Cole, making his usual entrance, blew through the door.

  ‘Blimey, guv,’ he said. ‘You look happy. What’s up? Someone die?’

  ‘Tommy,’ said Munro, burying his head in his hands. ‘I need you to make a call, quick as you can, please. The Farnsworths. See if they know anything about Hannah Lawson’s place on Cowley, it’s in Harry’s name. Charlie, are you doing something with that kettle or just looking at it?’

  ‘I need a word,’ said West.

  ‘And I need coffee, before I die of thirst.’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ said West, ‘coming up. That call just now…’

  ‘You’d best put an extra sugar in that.’

  ‘That call…’

  ‘What’s the link between Lawson and Harry F?’ said Munro.

  ‘What? I don’t know? Is there one? Now, that call…’

  ‘Guv,’ said Cole, hanging up the phone.

  ‘What is it, Tommy?’ said Munro.

  ‘That gaff on Cowley, Lawson’s place, it’s Harry’s alright. First house he bought, but his folks thought he sold it when he moved to Victory Road.’

  ‘Well, apparently not,’ said Munro.

  ‘So how does that work?’ said Cole. ‘You think he was renting it to her?’

  ‘Renting? Aye, Tommy, could be. Could… och, no. I fear it’s something a wee bit darker than that. The more I think about, it, the more I’m convinced that Hannah Lawson and Annabel Parkes are one and the…’

  ‘For crying out loud!’ said West, handing him a mug.

  ‘Calm down, Charlie, what is it?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to tell you, that call just now, it was the lab. They found minute traces of DNA on that scalpel and a smidge on the overalls, on the cuffs, nothing much, but enough to...’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ said Munro. ‘Standing there, fussing with the kettle, come on, don’t keep it to yourself.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing on file to match the DNA on the blade…’

  ‘Och, Charlie, you interrupted me to tell me that? I thought you had something…’

  ‘But the sample on the overalls…’

  Munro took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  West paused just long enough to rile Munro and allowed a satisfied grin to cross her face.

  ‘The sample on the overalls, it belongs to Jason Chan,’ she said.

  Munro, frowning, stared at West as though he wer
e struggling to comprehend the remark. He placed both hands palm down on the desk and slowly rose from his seat, his expression, pained.

  ‘What’s up?’ said West. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘So did I, Charlie. Now, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because…’ said Munro, heaving a sigh. ‘Because everything points to Hannah Lawson, everything we know suggests beyond doubt that she killed Harry, and Jason Chan, too. Now, this… this DNA on the overalls implicates Delgado, it places him at the scene, so how on earth he did he get that involved, Charlie? What’s he not telling us?’

  CHAPTER 18

  “WHERE IS SHE NOW?”

  ‘Ah, now that’s a good question,’ said Delgado. ‘And I wish I knew, really I do, but like I told the Inspector, as far as I know, she’s staying with friends, I think. A little break, a holiday of sorts. A job like hers can be quite taxing on the old grey matter. Most people only associate fatigue with manual labour, you know, physical work. They don’t realise just how exhausting it can be using one’s brain, day in, day out, planning, problem solving, working on strategies and all without spreadsheets. Still, all part of the package, I guess, if you’re afflicted, like her. With the OCD, I mean. Everything has to be, just right. Everything has to be perfect. There can be no trail.’

  ‘Do you miss her?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Yes, I think so. Not the company so much, more the… the thrill of the unexpected, I mean, you never knew what she was going to do next, what revelation would spill from her lips, not to mention where my next scar would be. I miss that. Life is, well, not dull, just a little less, exciting, without her.’

  ‘Did you regard her as your muse?’

  ‘Very good, you make me sound like an artist of merit, sapping the energy of youth to feed my creative bent, but no, I wouldn’t flatter myself that much. Not to say she wasn’t inspirational, God, she opened up whole new avenues for me – subject matter, style – you know I even relinquished the oils for a spell, tried something new. Wasn’t that successful, I have to admit, I mean, there’s only so much one can tap from one’s own veins before keeling over, you tend to get a bit dizzy, must be something to do with a lack of oxygen to the brain. I managed a couple of postcard-size studies but that...’

  Delgado paused as the door opened.

  ‘Interview suspended,’ said Dr. Banham. ‘7.32am. Detective Inspector Munro and D.S. West have entered the room.’

  ‘Jackie,’ said Munro. ‘Mind if we…’

  ‘Of course not, James, do you want me to…’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro. ‘This won’t take long, just a couple of…’

  ‘So nice to see you again, Sergeant West,’ said Delgado. ‘Might I say, you look…’

  ‘Mr. Delgado,’ said Munro, tersely, as he tossed Lawson’s I.D. card on the table. ‘Is this the wee lassie you’ve been house-sitting for?’

  Delgado smiled as he studied the card.

  ‘Yes, yes that’s her. Pretty isn’t she? Oh, Hannah? So, that’s her name, nice. It suits her, don’t you think. Hannah.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t…’

  Munro pulled back a chair and sat down. His voice was menacingly low, as though he were sealing a covert deal over a pint in a pub.

  ‘Listen, Marcos,’ he said, slowly pulling the house keys from his coat pocket. ‘Listen carefully, because I’m not one for repeating myself.’

  ‘I’m all ears, Inspector.’

  ‘See these keys, here? Any idea what they’d be doing in Harry’s apartment?’

  ‘Harry’s apartment?’ said Delgado. ‘Well, no…’

  ‘Because we have evidence,’ said Munro, ‘photographic evidence, which shows them on his bed, shortly before he was murdered,’

  ‘Murdered?’ said Delgado, taken aback. ‘Harry’s been murdered? Outrageous! No, can’t be true, you’re trying to trick me, how could he possibly…’

  ‘So you see, this puts you in a very comprising situation. I’d start to worry if I were you.’

  ‘But I told you,’ said Delgado, his eyes darting from West to Banham and back again. ‘They’re not my keys, they’re hers.’

  ‘But your house keys are on the same chain.’

  ‘Of course they are, makes it easier to carry them around.’

  Munro sat back, folded his arms and stared at Delgado, his gaze, unfaltering.

  ‘Herongate Road,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘What were you doing in Herongate Road?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘You have a garden,’ said Munro.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But it’s not laid to lawn.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, why would you want a lawnmower?’

  Delgado shifted uneasily in his seat.

  ‘I don’t know what you…’

  ‘Are you a religious man, Marcos?’ said Munro.

  ‘Pardon? No, not really, why?’

  ‘Oh, no reason, just think a wee prayer wouldnae go amiss. See, we found Jason Chan’s DNA on your overalls.’

  Delgado sniggered and shook his head.

  ‘You’re very good, Inspector,’ he said, grinning. ‘But you’re barking up the wrong tree. There’s absolutely no way those overalls could be mine, they wouldn’t fit. They’re too small. Way too small. They belong to…’

  ‘Then why were they in your rucksack? At your house?’

  ‘I… I carried them for her, she didn’t have room in her…’

  ‘So, you don’t deny you were there, then?’ said Munro. ‘Herongate Road?’

  Delgado sat back and glanced sheepishly at West.

  ‘Well, okay, yes, hands up,’ he said. ‘I was there, but I didn’t…’

  ‘Didn’t what?’ said Munro.

  ‘Kill him.’

  ‘Who said he was dead?’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘That makes you an accessory, Marcos. Problem is, I’m still not convinced. See, until our investigation takes a turn to the contrary, all the evidence suggests you murdered Jason Chan.’

  ‘Preposterous!’ said Delgado. ‘How many times… I didn’t…’

  ‘Then, who did?’ said Munro. ‘Who did?’

  ‘It was… no. Nice try, Inspector. But I’ve never been one to speak ill of the dead. Look, as I’ve been telling your friend, the doctor, here, I don’t know why I got involved. I made a mistake. I didn’t kill him. I got carried away on a… on a tide of infatuation, I was caught up in the moment, but I knew it was wrong, underneath it all, I knew it was wrong. It made me feel sick.’

  ‘Sick?’ said Munro. ‘It made you feel sick, but you didnae think to put a stop to it? To call the Police and have her arrested? You thought it better to watch another man die?’

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ said Delgado.

  Munro stood, placed his hands on the back of the chair and slid it carefully beneath the table.

  ‘Final question,’ he said. ‘Where is she, Marcos? Where’s Hannah?’

  ‘Hannah? Oh, I’m getting bored, Inspector, she’s gone to stay with…’

  ‘I’ll not ask again. Last chance.’

  Delgado sat back, stretched his arms, and smiled.

  ‘Alright, alright. I give up,’ he said. ‘She’s at home.’

  ‘At home?’ said Munro.

  ‘Yes, she never left. Oh, come on, you’ve searched her house, haven’t you?’

  ‘Aye, we have, indeed.’

  ‘Then I’d go back and look again, Inspector. Look a little harder.’

  * * *

  The house was still. Munro, snapping on a pair of gloves, went to the lounge and opened the blinds. He lifted his head and took a deep breath. The scent of bleach had all but disappeared. West followed him upstairs, saying nothing, watching as he went from room to room, scouring the furnishings and floor coverings for signs of tampering, searching for that elusive hidey hole large enough to conceal a small body. He reache
d the bathroom and huffed.

  ‘There’s nowhere,’ he said, confounded. ‘There just doesn’t seem to be…’

  ‘What about the bath?’ said West. ‘Behind the bath panel, like Harry?’

  ‘No,’ said Munro. ‘It’s just not… something doesn’t…’

  ‘Patio? Under the paving slabs?’

  ‘Too much like hard work. And that neighbour, she’d be…’

  ‘Floorboards?’ said West. ‘Under the…’

  ‘Wall to wall carpet. Charlie, look, everything’s been cleared out, right?’ said Munro, frustrated. ‘The personal things, toiletries, jewellery, things you’d take with you if you were vacating the premises or going on your holidays. What else would you do? If you were going away, Charlie, what else…?’

  ‘Put the rubbish out,’ said West.

  ‘Aye, he’s done that.’

  ‘Lock the doors and windows, make sure the cooker’s off.’

  Munro regarded her with a look of disdain.

  ‘Oh, empty the fridge, make sure there’s nothing going off, like milk or...’

  ‘Charlie, there are none so blind,’ said Munro, sparked with enthusiasm. ‘Come on, I hope to God you’re wrong, and please don’t heave the contents of your stomach across the floor if we find something untoward.’

  West stood by the sink nibbling her finger nails as Munro grasped the handle on the fridge door. He glanced at her briefly before tentatively easing it open. His head dropped.

  ‘Charlie,’ he said, quietly, his face bathed in a soft, yellow light. ‘Call Tommy. The usual please, pathologist, SOCOs, and we’ll need a uniform on the door.’

  ‘Right away. Can I…’

  Munro took a pace back, allowing West an uninterrupted view of the contents. She peered inside. Hannah Lawson, eyes wide, wearing a bizarre, twisted grin on her decapitated head, stared back.

  ‘It’s odd,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not as shocking, second time round.’

  ‘You get used to it, in a way.’

  ‘Where’s the rest of her?’

  Munro stepped forward and opened the lower door to the freezer, the shelves packed with an assortment of limbs, each neatly portioned up and sealed in freezer bags.

  ‘How long do you think she’s been here?’ said West, finding it impossible not to gawp.

  ‘Hard to say,’ said Munro. ‘But it’s a three-star appliance, she’ll not go off in a hurry.’