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

  Sixty-Eight

  At 10.35 a.m. I walked into Rayner's office and put a photograph down in front of him. He stopped eating his breakfast sandwich and looked up at me. 'You look terrible. You've been here all night, haven't you?'

  I ignored the question. 'He's here,' I said and pointed to a cottage in the picture. The small cottage was on a hill top over looking a Cornish beach. In front of the cottage stood two adults and a child of about nine years of age. This is where it started, that's Simon Baker, those are his parents.'

  Rayner took another bite of his sandwich and looked at me and then again at the picture. 'Okay,' he said. 'Okay, so they went on holiday to the Cornish coast. What am I missing?'

  I grabbed the remaining half of Rayner's sandwich and sat down. 'As a child Simon Baker's family stayed at his grandparent's cottage in Saint Ives, Cornwall. They were well known local artists and ran creative workshops. When his Grandmother and Grandfather passed away the property passed to Baker's mother. I checked it's still in her name. The property will most likely pass to him but that isn't relevant right now. What is relevant is Baker still visits the property from time to time for purposes of maintenance.'

  Rayner looked unconvinced. 'You're thinking he's hiding out there?'

  'There's more. This isn't the first time Baker has experienced what he would consider rough justice. It turns out Simon Baker's Grandfather was accused of raping a local school girl when Baker was just nine years old. Baker saw the whole sorry story play out. The rape of the eleven year old girl was in all the local and national newspapers. It was real scandal at the time. The Grandfather protested his innocence but locally he received death threats, violent abuse and one of the barns used as a workshop was burned to the ground. Eventually it was proved another man had raped the girl. A man from out of the area with a string of sex offences to his name. By that time it was too late, the damage to his Grandfather's reputation was done. Baker's Grandfather became more and more depressed. Rumours continued unabated and he realised he'd never completely clear his name and that there would always be those who talked behind his back and the slander would continue. One morning Baker's Grandfather walked out to the nearest cliff edge, just a minute or so from the cottage, and blew his brains out with a shot gun. A nine year old Simon Baker was staying with them at the time and it was him who found the body. His Grandmother never recovered from the shock. Heartbroken, she passed away within a few months.'

  'But Simon Baker actually did commit his crime. He was actually found guilty. He served his time,' said Rayner doubtfully.

  'Yes, I know, I know, but in his own warped mind he still feels some miscarriage of justice took place. Unlike his Grandfather, Baker has gone on a rampage taking vengeance on those who spread rumours or reported on his crime.'

  Rayner scratched his head furiously. 'Where does that actually get us?'

  'Guess what date Baker's Grandfather took his life?'

  Rayner shook his head. 'I don't know. Yesterday?'

  'Very close,' I said. 'In just three day's time it is the anniversary of his Grandfather's suicide. If this is all about Baker seeking some sort of mixed up recompense for not only himself but his Grandparents he's going to go back to the cottage. He may eventually be going somewhere safe, maybe out of the country, but I can almost guarantee he'll visit the cottage first, he may even already be there.'

  'What about his wife? What about Mrs Baker, surely he'd go after her next. Surely she's unfinished business.'

  I paused for a moment. Was this more about his wife than his childhood? I doubted it. My gut told me he was going back to where this all started. But what if I was wrong? Was tiredness playing tricks on me?

  'I'm going to the cottage in Cornwall. You look after Mrs Baker, speak to her and guard her round the clock if you have to. Let's not take any chances.'

  Sixty-Nine

  Entering the sleepy house through the back door had proved to be no challenge at all. The excitement now moved to another level and he tried to remain cool and collected but his whole body was tingling with anticipation. He ran a gloved hand along the kitchen work top and opened the fridge. The open door lit up the dark kitchen. He pulled a couple of grapes and popped them in his mouth. Juicy. He wanted to linger, take his time, extend the pleasure. He stayed as long as he could downstairs, taking in the feel of the home, going through newly washed and folded clothes, clothes ready for ironing. Silently moving through rooms he looked at framed photos, smelled scented candles, picked up and replaced ornaments. He smelled the soaps in the downstairs shower room. Jasmine. He went back to the kitchen and went through the dirty clothes sat waiting in the washing machine. Holding them close. Smelling them. Finally, he reached sensory overload and headed for the hall stairs. He touched his back pocket, took the rope and wound it twice then three times around his left hand. He climbed the stairs, listening. I'm here for you, honey. I'm here at last. His whole body was buzzing now. This was taking him to whole new level of euphoria. The only downside was he had to make the fun look like someone else had done it. He'd thought about that long and hard and decided the payoff was worth it. The look of astonishment on her face would be worth it. When she realised that his would be the last face she ever saw, the sacrifice would be worth it. The last face in her lifetime. He'd take a souvenir. One for him, one for a friend.

  He gently pushed at the bedroom door. For a moment his whole body trembled, then calm washed over him. Purpose and focus took over. The curtains were open and moonlight streamed into the room. The silvery moonlight created a magical scene. Mrs Baker was on her side with her back to him. She wants me to surprise her. He felt breathless. There in front of him was her perfectly peaceful contoured shape. Her hair like silk on the pillow. The curves of her body. He gazed at the satin sheet which rested on her legs then flowed up over her hips, down to her waist, flowing smoothly back up to her soft shoulders, finally down to rest on her delicate neck. He gripped the rope tighter and held himself back a moment longer to savour and capture this image of perfection. Exquisite.

  With lightning speed, he bound across the room and in one movement lifted her head, wrapped the cord around her neck, and pulled it tight. Gotcha! Not too tight but just enough. He needed her to turn, to see his face. He needed her to look into his eyes, to see recognition. She must know.

  Immediately he knew something was wrong. He'd done this enough times to know it didn't feel right. There was no real weight to the body. It was then all hell broke loose. Shouting. Lights. Guns. Police. He stopped and sat back on the bed. He turned his head and looked down at Mrs Baker. She was a dummy, a fake. Her grotesque synthetic face looked at him, taunted him. Whose the dummy now?

  Rayner took out his phone and called the Yard. They'd made an arrest but it wasn't Simon Baker.

  Seventy

  I was driving with my foot to the floor on my way to Cornwall. I felt strong but I knew in reality I was exhausted. Like so many times before I was running on strong coffee and adrenaline. My head and body were a swirling ball of anticipation and fear. I was driving the four hours to Cornwall on nothing more than a hunch. If I was wrong I'd have lost a day and Simon Baker could be long gone. I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind. I needed to stay positive, my hunches and my instincts are good. Detective work is the process of elimination, I'd eliminated the alternatives and was making the only logical next step. I kept telling myself, if I had this right I can end this now. But the long drive and tiredness introduced time, time to think and time to doubt my instincts. Knowing it was only mind tricks didn't make stopping the worry any easier. I pressed on, full speed, using my lights when necessary. Sooner I get there, the sooner I can put Baker down.

  Just around midday I was parked a safe distance away and walking towards the single hilltop cottage. It was a long walk, I didn't park close as any sound from an approaching vehicle would be carried on the wind, even over the sound of seagulls and crashing waves.

  I hunkered down behind a dry-stone wall so
me two hundred metres from the cottage. Through my field binoculars I would be able to make out the faces of anyone arriving or leaving the cottage. I watched the house for close to an hour and saw nothing. I felt sick to my stomach, what if I was wrong. I tried to get comfortable. If I was to approach the house I wanted to be sure Baker was in there. This was my best chance of cornering him and if he saw me before I saw him he'd be gone in a flash. Despite my eagerness it was patience and surprise I needed now. As soon as I had a positive ID I'd call for back up. Right now, this was all on me.

  It was a long and gruelling wait. The sun had been beating down on me all day and I could feel my neck and face were burnt. My back and knees were aching and my tongue and throat were parched. Nothing happened at the cottage all day and then around 9 p.m. a silver E Class Mercedes slowly made its way to the house and parked up outside.

  I watched as a couple got out of the car. The summer evening light was fading fast and I was having difficulty picking out their features. The woman got out first and immediately pulled a light scarf over her head, she looked elegant and wore a two piece suit and heels that didn't suit walking on the uneven ground outside a Cornish cottage. The tall thin man opened the car's back door and pulled out a travel bag and a bottle of wine off the back seat. As he lifted them out and began to stand I focused the binoculars on where his face was going to be when he straightened. I needed a positive ID. No mistakes, I needed to be certain it was Baker before I moved in. As he lifted his head and straightened his body the woman came round the side of the car and blocked my view. Doubt began to creep through me, mocking me.

  The tall man opened up the cottage and the couple entered. The lights went on inside but I was no better off. The cottage windows were small and I knew I'd never make a positive ID from here. For all I knew they were holiday makers renting the cottage for a romantic few days away. Okay, get off your arse and go take a look. Great, now I'm talking to myself. I checked my weapon and thought about what I needed to take. If all hell breaks loose it's best I can move quickly. I left everything except my Glock which I checked a second time. Nerves.

  I waited a few minutes until it was a little darker and then followed the dry-stone wall. I stayed low and followed it straight for a few minutes and then turned left and followed it up the hillside until it eventually came to a gap for the driveway to the cottage. I passed over the driveway and followed the wall until I was up close. Then I climbed over and staying low headed to the rear of the cottage. I stopped and crouched behind a log pile. My heart was racing. All my senses told me Baker was in that building and he had another victim with him. If I was wrong and burst in the repercussions didn't bare thinking about, at the very least it would be a serious internal investigation as well as a dream come true for the press. I couldn't allow someone to die but also, I had to be sure it was him.

  I edged along the side of the building and made my way to the first window. I peered in and could see no movement. My heart was hammering and felt ready to explode out of my chest. I listened and could hear the woman. She sounded distressed. I moved fast to the next window. I could hear voices. The woman was calling. Was I too late? I unclipped the Glock and peered in through the window. The woman was drinking red wine and singing along to music, she stopped and fixed her eyes on mine. She paused for a moment, then screamed. Simon Baker came rushing in from another room. My heart pounded. It was him. I've got you. He looked at her, then followed her eyes to the window.

  Seventy-One

  I moved quickly to the front of the cottage and kicked open the front door of the cottage. 'Scotland Yard Police, Inspector Hardy,' I said as I held out my warrant card. 'Simon Baker, do not move. Stay right there.'

  The woman dropped her glass of wine and ran for cover behind a small green sofa. I pointed at the woman. 'I'm a plain clothes police officer, for your own safety please stay right there. Do not move.'

  Baker took his chance, he turned on his heels and ran back through to the next room. I raised my weapon and followed him. I paused at the entrance to the room. Cautiously, I took the couple of steps up and entered the room. Set against the wall at the back of this room was a narrow staircase leading to an attic room. I began to cross the room when through the posts of the staircase the barrel of a shot gun appeared. I threw myself forward to the foot of the staircase turned and fired. I missed and a post beside Baker splintered. Baker couldn't turn the shotgun fast enough. He turned to run. I fired again, deliberately wide. The bullet grazed his shoulder, he stumbled and began reeling in pain. 'Christ, you shot me,' screamed Baker in disbelief. 'You really shot me?' He dropped the shotgun and focused his attention on the wound. He slumped back on the stairs. 'How could you shoot me, James?'

  'Simon Baker, you're under arrest for multiple homicide.'

  Baker smiled at me and began to laugh which caused him to wince in pain. 'We had fun though, right? And we'll still spend time together? Hours and hours and hours discussing my case and the investigation, right?' asked Baker.

  I said nothing. I cuffed him and dragged him through to the front room. I called for local police assistance and an ambulance and then I called Rayner. The woman was sat outside leaning against the front wall of the house. I passed her a blanket from off the sofa. 'Kelly,' she said. 'My name is Kelly Lyle.'

  'Detective Chief Inspector James Hardy. James.'

  'Is he really that serial killer I read about, James?'

  'Yes.'

  'Would he have killed me?'

  'I don't know.' I wanted to give her a better answer but I really didn't know.

  'Why didn't you kill him?'

  I looked at her, not sure what she was asking me.

  'Nobody would have known,' she continued. 'You should have killed him, James. He's killed so many people. Yet he gets to live. Hardly seems like justice.'

  Unsure what to say, I said nothing, and instead watched as she lit a cigarette. It was dark now and the tip of the cigarette glowed. 'He's losing a lot of blood, I had better go and check on him. The ambulance is going to be some time yet.'

  Then Kelly surprised me. 'I can help. I was a doctor, a long time ago. I worked in the United States. Saw my fair share of gunshot wounds. I'll take a look.' Kelly got up and went inside to attend to Baker.

  Kelly cleaned and dressed the wound while I paced and called again for the ambulance. I could hear Baker mumbling in the background. A lot of nonsense and egotistical crap. 'We had fun didn't we Hardy? The Mentor said it would be fun, once things really got going. I think The Mentor will be proud. Look how far we've come.' He began to laugh and wince from the pain. Kelly had finished and was following me as I stepped back outside the cottage. The reception was better outside and I was keen to hear how far away the ambulance was. I dialled the number again and walked about trying to get a better signal.

  A piercing scream from inside the house stopped me in my tracks. I spun round and looked for Kelly. She wasn't outside with me. I was sure she was following me out of the cottage. I ran inside and saw Kelly on the floor with Baker on top of her. They were both covered in blood. Whose blood? I looked and looked again. The blood was Baker's. His hands still cuffed behind his back he was fighting with Kelly. Blood pumped from wounds to his neck. There was blood everywhere. Kelly raised her hand and stabbed Baker again. In her hand, I saw the stem of a broken wine glass. The glass she had dropped earlier, I thought. I dragged him off her and watched as he took his last gasping breath. 'He tripped me with his foot and threw himself at me, he was trying to bite my face. I pushed him and scratched him. I stabbed him with the glass, I had no choice. I couldn't get him off. Where were you? You left me?'

  'You're okay. You did the right thing. I'm sorry, I saw you following me out of the house.'

  Kelly began sobbing. 'Is he dead? Did I kill him?'

  'Yes. He can't harm you now. He can't hurt anyone.'

  Any urgency I felt before had gone. I looked at the stars and watched as distant flashing blue lights of the emergency services moved
closer. Kelly got herself cleaned up as best she could and we stood outside again. She crushed out a cigarette and lit another.

  'So much for giving up,' she said showing the cigarette. 'Perhaps today isn't the day.'

  We laughed uneasily. 'Perhaps you're right.'

  'He said his Mentor was going to kill me and then kill you and your family. Did he hear voices in his head? Or did he have an accomplice?'

  I looked back at the cottage where inside lay the bloody lifeless body of Baker. 'No, he worked alone,' I said confidently. Even though inside I wasn't entirely convinced.

  Kelly pulled the blanket tight over her shoulders. 'Am I safe?'

  I thought about Alice, Faith and Monica at home and how I wished I could be there with them right that second. 'You're safe. We're all safer. For whatever reason, he thought all this was a game. The game is over.'

  Kelly leaned in and put her head against me and instinctively I put my arm around her. We watched the first police cars approaching up the long uneven driveway to the cottage.

  'Thank you, James,' said Kelly. We looked out at the night as a million stars shone down.

  Seventy-Two

  Kelly Lyle was back from Cornwall and for now the police had completed their questioning. She dropped her travel bag in the hallway and picked up the post. She slipped off her heels and walked silently to the kitchen. She poured herself a large cold white wine. The house was dark and quiet which she welcomed after her recent experience. She had always felt at ease in the dark and was comfortable with solitude. She walked to her office and placed the bottle of wine and the envelopes on her oak desk. Having switched on a reading light she settled into her chair and drank deeply from her glass of wine. Unable to resist any longer Kelly turned in her chair to face the cabinet. She slid open the cabinet door to reveal the safe. Spinning the dial, she hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. The safe door opened to reveal the batch of envelopes she'd been saving. Kelly smiled to herself. She took the jiffy bag from the small pile and with a knife from her drawer sliced it open. She emptied the contents onto the desk and read out the two accompanying notes, one of which read: