[DC Laura McGanity 05 ]Cold Kill

by Neil White

  ‘Because that’s what they do,’ Joe said. ‘Whoever is killing these women, they’re displaying power, maybe for the first time. One thing he will enjoy is the mayhem it creates. He will follow the news story and take pride in beating us, the police, because this whole thing is about flexing his muscles.’

  ‘It’s a calculated risk then,’ Laura said, ‘because if the description of the bodies makes someone think of a name, or decide not to shelter him anymore, it will be worth it.’

  ‘That’s the problem with risks,’ Joe said, waving his pen at her. ‘They can go wrong, and in this case, that will mean another dead woman.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Laura glanced out of the car window and felt a tickle of nervousness. She took a couple of deep breaths and brushed the lint from the front of her suit.

  She strode up to the door of Don Roberts and pressed the bell. The electronic chime echoed inside and she looked around as she waited, turning back when she heard the click of the door latch. When the door opened, she saw that it was Don, wearing the same clothes as the day before, a plain black T-shirt with gold necklaces dripping across his chest. Tough guy caricature.

  ‘Hello, Mr Roberts,’ Laura said, trying to sound friendly, so that he might forget for a second that she was a police officer.

  He considered her for a moment, his teeth clenched, and then, to Laura’s surprise, he stepped to one side.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, although it was more of a command than a welcome.

  As she walked past him, she saw things she hadn’t noticed the day before, when her focus had been on breaking the bad news. There were reflective stones set into the stairs, so that each step shone like a glitter ball, and the wallpaper was thick black flock, but when the sunlight caught it, there was a red underlay to it, something more special than a roll from the local DIY shop. It was always the way with crooks, that they can’t bank the money and so they spend it, usually on cars and chandeliers.

  Laura was even more surprised when she went into the living room. The room was the same as the day before, bright red leather sofas in front of a large television, with white ornate dog figures in the corner, but this time it was filled with people, and it didn’t look like the family had gathered to offer their condolences.

  There were six men sitting down, every available piece of red leather taken up, and all of them looked to be from the same mould, with muscles stretching their T-shirts, the blue and black curls of tattoos stretching down their forearms. They wore their hair shaved or cropped short and their mouths were set into scowls.

  Laura tried to stay relaxed, nothing was going to happen to her, although she felt her mouth go dry and her heart hammer in her chest.

  ‘We need to speak in private,’ she said to Don.

  ‘Do you have a suspect?’ he said.

  ‘I would rather we discussed this alone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ he replied sharply.

  ‘I didn’t come here to be a sideshow, Mr Roberts.’

  He nodded towards the door. ‘That’s the way home, sweetheart.’

  She looked down for moment, and then she sighed. ‘Okay, if this is how you want it,’ she said. ‘No, we don’t have a suspect, although it is more difficult when the victim’s family won’t help. Why won’t you help? You’ve nothing to hide, I presume.’

  She fought the urge to take a few steps back as Roberts clenched his jaw and took some deep breaths through his nose.

  ‘You can call me many things, but I would not harm my daughter,’ he said, his voice turning into a growl. He looked at the men on the sofa, and a quick glance from Laura told her that they were shocked. Roberts turned back to her. ‘You think you are doing a great service, ticking your boxes. Spoken to bereaved family. Tick. Tried to find boyfriend. Tick. But you’re wasting your time, because people won’t want to talk to you.’ His lips curled into a smile, but his eyes remained dark and cold. ‘People will talk to me.’

  ‘But how do you know you’re going to get the right answers?’ Laura said. ‘People will just give you what you want because they’re scared of you.’

  ‘I’ll know,’ he said, speaking slowly now, ‘because I’ll make it clear that I’ll be back if I get the first whiff of bullshit.’

  Laura looked at the men sitting on the sofas. She noticed a few fists clench. ‘You know that this house will be the first place we look if any of the local perverts wind up dead,’ she said.

  No one said anything.

  ‘Did any of you see Jane on the night she went missing?’ she asked.

  Still silence.

  Laura realised that if she was going to get a reaction, she was going to have to provoke it.

  ‘Come on, fellahs,’ she said. ‘It’s not a hard question. I bet some of you liked her. Pretty young woman, nice body, the key to Don’s empire. Are you sure one of you didn’t want her a little too much?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Roberts barked.

  ‘And what about Deborah Corley?’ she said, ignoring him. ‘Did you see her around?’

  Laura heard Roberts step closer to her. She could smell his breath, no sleep and cigarettes, and she noticed a few people shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

  ‘Are you all going along with this to protect yourselves?’ Laura continued. ‘Perhaps you’ll blame it on some local pervert?’

  ‘Stop!’

  It was a female voice.

  Laura whirled around. It was Don’s wife, Helen. Jane’s mother. There were tears streaming down her face and her eyes were red.

  ‘Stop, please,’ she said, her voice quieter now, her hand gripping the door frame for support. ‘This isn’t about scoring points.’

  ‘So help us then,’ Laura said. She turned to Don. ‘You conduct your own enquiries, fine, but don’t shut us out.’

  Don Roberts looked at his wife, and then back at Laura. He pursed his lips a couple of times, and then said to Laura, ‘Time to go.’

  Laura looked at Mrs Roberts, who was staring at her husband.

  ‘Tell me one thing,’ Laura said. ‘Does the name Emma mean anything to you, in connection with Mike Corley?’

  Don blinked, but then he clenched his jaw and pointed towards the door. ‘Like I said, you’re done here.’

  ‘Okay,’ Laura said. ‘I’ll go now, but come and see me if you want to talk.’ She was looking at Mrs Roberts as she said it.

  Laura went towards the front door, and as she heard it slam behind her, she looked down at her hands. There was a tremble to her fingers. She wasn’t sure how many friends she had made in there, although when she glanced back, she saw a face move quickly away from the glass in the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jack was at the table, hunched over his laptop, writing the leak article, his beer bottle almost empty, when Laura came through the door.

  Bobby was watching television, and he turned around excitedly. She grinned and went to him. She slumped on the sofa next to him, and Jack watched with a smile as Bobby told Laura about his day at school. The tiredness seemed to fade from her eyes and within a few minutes, she was laughing at something Bobby said about a teacher. They watched television for a few minutes together, Bobby leaning into her, until she kissed him on the top of his head and said she had to get a drink.

  Jack held the bottle in the air as Laura walked past. ‘One more from the fridge if you’re going near it.’

  ‘You’re going to have to come and get it,’ she said, and when he turned to look, Laura was beckoning for him to follow her, smiling.

  Jack obeyed, and when he got into the kitchen, Laura stepped forward and put her arms around his neck. She pulled him close and kissed him on the lips, just briefly.

  ‘A bit early for beer,’ she said softly.

  Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he grinned and then pulled her into him again, kissing her harder this time. She responded at first, but then she whispered that Bobby might walk in on them and pulled away. She leaned against the counter. ‘Ho
w’s the story coming on?’

  ‘It’s getting there,’ he said, opening the fridge and reaching for another beer. ‘How’s the investigation?’

  Laura smiled. ‘It’s getting there.’

  ‘And that’s all I’m getting? I was shown the photographs of the bodies earlier, and now it’s all secret again? I could pull the story.’

  She sighed. ‘Okay, okay, don’t get like that. On the record, we are pursuing some interesting lines of inquiry.’

  ‘And off the record?’

  ‘We’re getting nowhere. Jane’s boyfriend’s in the clear, but we always thought he was. That’s where Jane was going when she was killed, because Don didn’t like him and so they had to sneak around. That’s why she was on her own, which makes it really sad. Apart from that, we’ve nothing.’

  ‘What about the reference to Emma?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Nothing so far. It sounds like the emails could be from some attention-seeker.’

  Jack took a drink of his beer. ‘I’ve got the story in one of the nationals,’ he said.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘It’s still good to have favours to call in.’

  ‘He won’t be there for ever,’ she said.

  Jack shrugged. ‘Who is?’ He took another drink of beer and then said, ‘You’re back early. We could have a night in.’

  ‘We could, provided that you don’t grill me any more about the case.’

  ‘What is there to know? Is Don a suspect?’

  ‘Should he be?’

  ‘Maybe he’s a copycat, covering up something he’s done in the past by making Jane look like a second victim.’

  Laura put her hand over her mouth, shock on her face. ‘What, you mean a police officer might have leaked things about the first victim to him?’ Then she grinned playfully. ‘We thought of that, Sherlock. You’re not the only sleuth in town, you know.’

  Her head went back and she put her hands to her face before she swept back her hair.

  ‘You need to get more rest,’ Jack said.

  ‘And you need to drink less.’

  ‘Come on, Laura, you know what I mean. Stop feeling like you’ve got something to prove. You’re a good detective, everyone knows that.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘There’s always something to prove, you know that. I’m a woman, I’m from the wrong end of the country, the London upstart. There is always someone jostling for my position, and the handicaps mean that I’ve got to jostle a little bit harder than others.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jack said. ‘Just don’t forget about us two at home, waiting for you.’

  Laura didn’t respond at first, and for a moment Jack thought he had said too much, until she replied, ‘You’re both my family,’ her voice slow and low. ‘I could never forget that. We’re getting married, for goodness’ sake.’

  Jack nodded, smiling. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And that reminds me,’ she said, pushing herself away from the counter and walking past Jack. ‘I’ve got to fit into a dress, so I think I’d better go for a run.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Laura was looking down as she started the jog up the long hill. It would take her home eventually, but there was still over a mile of hard running first and it was getting dark. She worried about the traffic. She had already slipped the headphones out of her ears, but the steady pound of her feet on the footpath filled her head instead, and every slam of her shoes on the ground reminded her that she was getting closer to home.

  She didn’t enjoy running, never had. It made her knees hurt and too much moved around for it to be fun, but she knew that if the wedding day was ever going to come around, she had to do this. She would have the rest of her life to wind down, and so she pushed herself on, her water bottle gripped in one hand, sweat pouring down the end of her nose. It seemed like every step was an effort, her shoulders working hard to keep the rest of her body going, blowing heavily as she went. She told herself that it was about more than just getting trim for the wedding. It was about shaking off the memories of the day, about feeling alive as she felt the fading sun on her face and enjoying the rolling green hills she saw whenever she looked up. But she knew that was a lie. She hated every step, and she knew she would stop as soon as the small band of gold went around her finger.

  Laura glanced ahead. The road climbed steadily, with the pavement petering out further on. She glanced back. She could hear an engine getting closer, straining. It would appear around the bend shortly, the beams of light just painting the wall ahead as it got closer. Her clothing was bright, with dayglo strips running down the arms and legs of her running gear, but she put in some extra effort to get ahead of whatever it was, to get away from the corner so that she didn’t appear as a surprise, her arms pumping, her head down again.

  Laura looked around as the engine got closer and then rounded the corner behind her. It was an old van, small, and the wind caught the scent of the fumes that were billowing from the exhaust. She couldn’t see the driver because of the glare of the headlights.

  Laura glanced up. The pavement was about to run out and so she knew that the van would catch her up when she was on the road. But there was no traffic ahead and so there was plenty of room for it to pass her.

  She stepped onto the road as the pavement ended, and felt the harder ground jar at her knees, every step sending jabs of pain through her legs. The van was right behind her now, the sway of her body caught in silhouette on the road from the beam of the headlights. She waited for the van to go straight past, her mouth set firmly, not wanting to take in the blast of exhaust fumes as the van carried on up the hill, her breaths coming fast through her nose.

  But it didn’t go past. Something was wrong.

  She looked back again. She was blinded by the glare of the lights. The van was only a couple of feet away now.

  She tried to pick up her speed, worried, but the van stayed with her, the front bumper too close. She kept looking back, but she knew she couldn’t stop because it was right behind her. It hugged the wall at the side of the road, so that she couldn’t just move out of the way.

  She ran faster, her breaths coming hard now, her lungs aching in her chest, the heat from the front grille on her calves. She gestured with her hand that the van should go past her, but it didn’t. It stayed with her. It wasn’t just another motorist.

  Laura looked ahead, hoping for someone else to approach. There was nowhere to go on her left, the wall right up to the road. The engine seemed to pick up, trying to find some acceleration on the slope. She could leap for the wall, her only escape, but the van was too close. It would catch her ankles and drag her to the floor if she did anything to change her stride. Her legs were tight with effort, her heart was beating hard. She looked quickly over her shoulder again. The van was moving into the centre of the road, trying to get alongside her. She could feel the vibrations of the wheels under her feet. She could see a grass verge ahead, too steep for the van. Twenty yards away. She could dive onto that and then scramble for the wall.

  She put her head down and tried to sprint, but her legs didn’t respond. Her head went back. Almost there. Ten yards. Five yards.

  The driver must have realised what she was going to do, because the van swerved towards her, the front wing heading straight for her legs. She let out a shout and made a leap for the verge.

  She landed in a heap, banging her leg on a rock that jutted out of the grass, her hands breaking her fall, pain shooting to her shoulder. She felt a rush of air as the tyre brushed her foot and then there was a bang as the van ran into the verge.

  Laura looked up angrily, her chest pumping hard. The van reversed quickly, the bumper dented, and then stayed there, smoke trailing from the exhaust at the back. She started to get to her feet when the driver door began to open. Laura got ready to shout, but then she stopped. The driver’s actions were too deliberate. The door was fully open, but no one was moving. And then she noticed something else too: there was no registration plate.

&n
bsp; Think, she told herself. He might have a weapon, whoever it is. She started to back away up the verge, towards the grey drystone wall at the top, and she felt trapped when her back hit the stones.

  She tried to work out what to do when a car rounded the corner towards them, coming down the hill, going slow.

  The driver’s door slammed closed, and then Laura coughed as the van took off up the hill, her face shrouded in blue smoke, the noise of the engine loud.

  As Laura watched the van go, the driver of the other car wound down his window.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  Laura nodded her thanks, her smile weak as she got up. ‘I’m fine. Just took a tumble, that’s all.’

  The other driver smiled back at her and then pulled away slowly. Laura sat down on the grass again and listened to the noise of the other engine as it faded into the distance.

  What was all that about? Was it because she was a lone woman, jogging along a dark country lane, or because she was a police officer, some kind of revenge?

  Then she remembered the emails. Whoever had sent them knew about Jack. Did he also know about her? She looked up the hill again, the van gone now, but then she thought of what was at the top of the hill. Her home, with Bobby inside. Had he gone there?

  She dragged herself to her feet and set off running again, except this time all she could think about was her son. It drove away the pain in her legs, her chest, her heart going too fast. She needed to get home.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Nothing was clear anymore. He drove quickly in the van, too aroused, too angry. He couldn’t go home. The noise in his head was loud now, like a scream that he knew he had to silence. The journey was just a stream of red lights, blurred, blending into one. He couldn’t remember where he had driven.

  He thought he could hear people mocking him, just quiet laughs, almost inaudible, but definitely there. He took deep breaths, sweat prickling across his body, his shirt sticking to his back.