Knife and Death: A killer seeks revenge. A friend brutally murdered. A woman runs for her life. (DCI James Hardy Book 1)

by J. A. Gill

  'Speck-tack-leeyer,' added Faith.

  'Spectacular,' we all agreed.

  'I kind of messed it up a little in the middle, but it was okay,' added Alice modestly.

  'Well, if that's true then none of us noticed, we all loved it. I'm so proud of my girls, well done, baby.'

  Glasses of water raised we toasted the evening and being together. The girls love to hear the chink of glasses as we toast around the table and we use any excuse to do it.

  Later, I read stories to the girls and cuddled them. We a talked for a while about school and friends and mummy. I cuddled them some more and tickled them a little. Usually the girls shared a room. As a treat tonight they were sleeping together in my double bed. When that happens I usually sleep on the pull out sofa bed or more often than not on my big old recliner chair. Though, if I do that and the girls catch me I'm lovingly scolded. Monica was still sleeping in Faith's box room which still had Winnie the Pooh curtains and wallpaper. My daughters have been pressing me for a while now to change the rooms around and organise a more permanent room for Monica. In their child imaginings, unaware of the bigger picture, it seems only logical. After all Monica's effortlessly filled the role of surrogate mum.

  I poured myself a Single Malt and listened to the girls chatting with Monica. Life felt complicated but I knew she was good for them. They needed a woman around and at the moment Monica needed us. It sometimes felt that since Helena's death I was getting more wrong than right. I often felt guilt for not being there for my girls. They in turn know I have a job to do and that job means keeping people safe and they're okay with that. A few months back it felt I was only just keeping my head above water. If it hadn't been for my girls, who knows, I may have been ready to give in and drown. Right now though things feel good. I might still be struggling with the balance of life and all the emotions, needs and wants of a family, but life is returning. Occasionally, I still feel I'm being stretched in too many directions and sometimes don't know all the answers, but that's normal. I know I can't give the girls everything they need but I know I'd do all I can for them, unconditionally and without hesitation.

  Life hasn't been fair. Their precious mother has been snatched away from my two little girls and God knows I want my wife back. But we're feeling strong again. We're close and we're all together and filled with love. Yes, I got things wrong and yes I made all kinds of mistakes during the darkest days, but nothing major. So on days like today, when the house is filled with so much happiness, so much love and so much laughter - the way it used to be - I know I must be getting it mostly right. Days like today are now far outweighing the bad days. So each day I count my blessings, worry a little less and feel more confident we're going to be alright.

  Four

  Ice skating is not a favourite activity of mine but Alice and Faith love it. Helena used to bring the girls and she'd come on the ice with them. Today it was me on the ice and I wished I had gone on the ice when the girls were small, that way I'd be pretty competent by now. Of course, the girls didn't care about my skating ability all they cared about was that they had me all to themselves for a few hours. They whizzed around the ice and held me up as I slipped and staggered from one wall to another. I looked over at Monica who was laughing and videoing me on her phone from the safety of the benches. 'Looking good, Detective Inspector,' laughed Monica.

  'Your turn, to put on the skates,' I called back.

  'Sorry, I can't hear you,' joked Monica.

  'Look Monica, see what we can do,' called Alice and Faith in unison. The girls took it in turns to do jumps and skate backwards and all sorts of fancy stuff. I watched in exhausted admiration. I on the other hand concentrated all my energies on the, not so simple task, of hanging onto the wall and not landing on my backside.

  I watched how the girls adored Monica. Since their mother, Helena, was murdered, Monica has stayed with us. In fact she was already staying with us before it happened. Monica was Helena's best friend, they had been best friends from the day they met as toddlers in Nursery School. Since that day they'd been like sisters and so when Monica's new husband, Scott, turned to drink and became violent Monica moved in with us. I look back with fondness and remember that there hadn't been any real discussion between Helena and me. Helena told me Monica needed our help and that she'd prepared a room for her. 'Monica will be staying for a while, that's okay isn't it?' she'd said, more telling me than asking. That was nearly two years ago. A few months later Helena was dead. In the wrong place at the wrong time she was the victim of an addict's need to feed his heroin habit. Fighting to keep her handbag from being snatched she was stabbed and bled to death in the street surrounded by good Samaritans, strangers and onlookers.

  Monica is still in the spare room. She's a good friend, she was there for them when they needed her most. She adores Alice and Faith and they adore her. They welcome the motherly figure she provides. It seems to work for Monica while her divorce is being finalised. She doesn't want to go back to her parent's home, which I can understand. She wants to stay in London and alone couldn't possible afford to rent. I'll admit it's worked for me as she's a good listener and we both enjoy talking about our memories of Helena. It sounds odd, perhaps, but having Monica around is keeping Helena alive for me.

  After the skating we all headed to a family restaurant which serves high quality burgers and milk shakes. All sorts of Americana adorn the walls. I couldn't help (once again) boring the girls by explaining who was in some of the memorabilia: Elvis, James Dean, Clint Eastwood, Marlon Brando.

  They got me back by asking me questions about pop stars in their favourite groups. 'Which pop group did Zayn Malik belong too then Daddy?' they asked. Then they asked, 'Name three songs from Frozen, Daddy. That's an easy one.' The girls giggled as I contorted my face trying to think of the most famous one that everyone knows.

  'Hang on, hang on, I've nearly got it. Let it snow?' I said finally. The girls booed and teased me. I held up my hands and admitted defeat. My phone rang and I instinctively knew who it was without looking. I took the call outside. I paced up and down listening to my good friend, Inspector Rayner, going over the situation he was responding to. I listened and we agreed he'd go to the scene and if it turned out to be something of the nature he anticipated then he'd call me back. This call he told me was just a heads up. I finished the call and watched through the large glass windows as Monica distracted the girls. Monica looked over and smiled knowingly, her expression said it all. I've got this, if you need to go then don't worry the girls and I will be fine.

  Rayner told me a woman has been found murdered and there's a strong possibility that I'm going to be back on another slow painful investigation. As I watched my daughters drawing and laughing I felt the feeling I often got before an investigation starts. I feel my limbs grow heavy and the energy drain from my body. Yet I know that when the investigation begins and the pieces start coming together my energy returns. I once imagined it as a tide of emotion coming down on me, weighing heavy on my mind as fear and apprehension descend, then when the time is right and the tide begins to turn, my need to win takes over and propels me forward.

  Five

  I walked to the river's edge which had been cordoned off by forensics. It was a beautiful summer morning and as the sun came up I took a moment to look down and across the Thames to where I could see the Palace of Westminster and Elizabeth Tower, more commonly known by the name of its main bell, Big Ben.

  In front of me tents and screens were in place. I felt the anxious knot in my stomach grow. Detective Inspector Rayner was talking to forensic pathologist Heidi Hamilton. 'Look who it is,' Rayner joked. 'I know you're supposed to be resting but I thought you'd want to see this. How are you feeling?'

  I was still recovering from a few injuries sustained while apprehending a low life who preyed on the elderly. 'Bit bruised and sore but I'll live,' I said. 'Next time I'll call for back-up sooner, I promise.'

  'You'd better,' said Hamilton.

  'So w
hat have we got?' I asked.

  Hamilton looked at her notes and began to unzip the body bag as she spoke. 'Young woman. Early twenties. Bruising around the neck indicates strangulation. Also, multiple stab wounds to the abdomen, I counted at least fifteen.'

  I looked at the young woman's face. It seemed familiar, but difficult to place under the circumstances. My mind began racing, trying to place the face. Hamilton was still talking but it was only background noise. I know this young woman and my mind finally placed her. She was a sweet girl, foreign, Polish or similar. I'd spoken to her only a couple of days ago. It finally fell into place. It was at Monica's evening class. She was a student of Monica's, an enthusiastic student. The girl and Monica had formed a sort of friendship, they'd chatted a lot. Monica had introduced her to me after a class. We had spoken, but only briefly.

  'Aleksandra,' I said finally.

  Rayner and Hamilton looked at me. 'Are you okay?' said Hamilton.

  I put a hand out to steady myself. 'Aleksandra Berisha is her name, I know her. She's become a sort of friend to Monica. She's Eastern European. She takes evening classes at one of Monica's English classes.' This case was suddenly close to home. How had she ended up like this? Was this a random attack? Had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had she known the killer? Could this have been done by a boyfriend? Was this related to her past, her life back in her country of origin? I realised I knew very little about her.

  Rayner and Hamilton looked at each other. There was something they hadn't told me. Something important. 'What is it?' I asked. Even though I was unsure whether I really wanted more bad news.

  'The thing is,' began Rayner. 'She had a silver case in her purse with a few of these cards in it.' Rayner handed me a business card which had the usual lines about offering 'discreet and professional' escort services.

  Hamilton took over. 'The thing is, your friend was very likely offering escort services. Maybe one of her clients turned out to be a psychopath.'

  I was stunned. My mind ran through the brief conversations we'd had. I was searching for clues. How had I missed something like that? Then again, being a prostitute isn't necessarily one of the things that she'd want coming up in conversation when introduced to a Scotland Yard Detective Inspector.

  Six

  Rayner and I were met at the door to the flats by Aleksandra's landlord. Leonard Cotton was a sprightly, elderly man who looked as though he was dressed for a day at the office. Even though the heat outside was in the mid seventies he wore a navy tie and jacket. His shoes had a high gloss and I guessed he had at one time or other served in the military. He held himself very upright and had an air of confidence about him. He scrutinised our badges before leading us up the two flights of stairs to the room on the top floor.

  'My flat is on the bottom floor and I rent out the top floor. Here we are detectives. And please call me Leonard,' he said as he opened the door. 'If I get my hands on the coward that did that to her I'll gut him. The things I learned how to do to a man you never forget. I was a Paratrooper you know, served all round the world.

  Pretty little thing she was, always happy, always smiling and very polite and friendly. Foreign of course, but I don't mind that. I've met all sorts all around the world. Anyway, nowadays the foreigners are more polite than those born and bred around here - lazy, foul mouthed little sods most of them.'

  I put on my gloves and began looking in each room. I wasn't sure what exactly I was looking for, often I don't know that until it jumps out at me. Looking around I realised I knew precious little about Aleksandra's private life. I really knew nothing of her background and her day to day challenges since arriving in the UK. I'd only known a young woman who missed her family and had talked of being excited about having moved to London. A young woman who was full of dreams and the possibilities for her new life here.

  At the back of a bottom drawer I found more cards. I looked through wardrobes checking pockets of coats and jackets. I noticed the shoes. Half one side of the wardrobe and half on the other. I looked back at the clothes hanging there and then I looked back at the shoes. I looked around the room. Two single beds. I grabbed a photo off a chest drawers and showed it to Leonard who was still chatting to Rayner.

  'Back in my day we used to call them, 'Ladies of the night'. I don't know if it's true of course, I heard it from...'

  'Who is the other girl?' I asked.

  'Anya, her name is Anya,' said Leonard with surprise.

  'Why didn't you tell us two girls lived here?'

  'I assumed you knew. I assumed that was why you were here. To ask her questions and to ask me questions,' said Leonard. 'Mind you, I haven't seen her for a few days. Not since Aleksandra disappeared, I try to not come across as a nosey landlord, so I don't ask too many questions.'

  The gravity of the situation suddenly dawned on Leonard. He straightened his perfect tie nervously. His hands were trembling as he slumped in one of the armchairs. He began mumbling and scolding himself. 'Useless, silly old sod. Should have been looking out for those young women. One dead, one missing and where were you? You let them get taken from right under your watch. There was a time nobody would have dared cross you, now you're nothing, just a frail old man.'

  Rayner, who was now at my side called it in. He took a photo of Anya on his phone and sent it over to Scotland Yard's missing persons.

  Where was Anya? Did she know who had murdered Aleksandra? Was she dead too and resting at the bottom of the Thames? Or was she hiding from the killer or from the police or both?

  Seven

  Finding Anya was now my top priority. A description and photo was already in circulation. If she was alive and in the Greater London area then there was still a good chance we'd find her. Of course, if she was in fact in danger our best chance of protecting her was if she came forward. Failing that, our next best hope was to find someone who had recently seen her.

  I decided to head home and break the news to Monica. There was a slim chance Monica would know where Anya might go. Perhaps she knew some of Anya and Aleksandra's friends or hangouts. In any event I wanted to speak to Monica before Alice and Faith got home from school. I knew it wouldn't be long before the victim's name hit the news channels and I didn't want her finding out that way. We were holding the name back for now but eventually it would come out. I wasn't looking forward to the conversation but felt Monica deserved to hear the news from me first.

  Monica was marking test papers for her evening class and she could see from my face I was the bearer of bad news. I told her what I could, then we talked and she cried and I comforted her. It was a rough few hours.

  Monica told me Aleksandra had talked a lot and that on occasion she had mentioned a friend named Anya. 'She talked about the usual things, nothing out of the ordinary. I never got the feeling she was scared of anyone. We talked about food, family, friends, men, money and her homesickness,' said Monica. 'Aleksandra was a bright young woman, quietly confident with a positive attitude,' said Monica. 'She came alone to the UK. She knew no one to begin with. She left her family and everything she knew to start a new life, that takes such courage. Then some monster does this to her and she's gone. Just like that - gone.'

  Monica and I drove to the Spring Castle School together to pick up Alice and Faith. We watched as they came running across the playground and I felt my heart lighten as they came crashing into me for a hug. It's incredible how children can instantly change your mood with their love, energy and excitement. I pick them up from school as often as I can and it's as much a treat for me as it is for them to be at the school gates when they come out. 'Who wants to go and get an ice cream sundae?' I suggested.

  'Really?' Alice and Faith began jumping up and down excitedly and calling out the flavours and toppings they'd like. Monica hugged and kissed the girls and smiled for the first time in a few hours.

  Eight

  I was the only one still up when Rayner arrived just after eleven. He put his files on the desk and handed me a co
ld beer from the fridge. We were in my home office which is currently a converted garage adjoined to the house. Rayner and I needed to talk. There had been a development in Aleksandra's case, the worst kind of development. A second body had been found, this time a Thames River Police patrol boat had pulled the body out of the river. It was another young woman, wrapped in plastic sheeting the same way Aleksandra had been found. Rayner knew what I was waiting to hear. 'It's not her,' he said. 'It's not, Anya.'

  I'm not sure relieved is the right word but I felt something similar. Anya might be our only link to the killer. The body wasn't that of Anya but it was still a young woman, still a daughter, still a sister, still somebody's loved one. The fact remained that this was a young woman whose life had been cut brutally short. She most likely had family who were worried about her. A mother and father who were desperate to hear her voice and hear she was okay. Instead the next news of their sweet daughter would be contact from one of my police officers and it would be the worst kind of news a parent can receive.

  Rayner opened a case file and spread out a series of photos. They were hard to look at. Another young woman, too young to end this way. I could see the same bruise marks around the throat and the same abdominal stab wounds, this time many more stab wounds. Rayner sat back in his armchair and looked at his notes. He looked exhausted. He took a sip of his beer. 'Forensics will know more tomorrow but what they can tell us right now is she's been dead a while, certainly a while longer than Aleksandra. It seems she may have been dead a few days and then her body was moved and put in the Thames.'

  'Do we have a name?'

  'No name. We have nothing. Unlike Aleksandra this young woman has nothing to indicate who she is. We've got to hope finger prints or missing persons turn up something. Or maybe her family will come forward.'