Cold Sacrifice

by Leigh Russell

He glanced at Polly then looked back at Ian.

  ‘I heard him and looked round. He had this look in his eyes I’d never seen before, not with me anyway. I mean, he’s always had a crazy temper – he used to yell at my mother all the time, over stupid things, like she’d put too much milk in his tea. I don’t know how she put up with it for so long, but there was no talking to her about it. I tried, but she as good as told me to mind my own business. She kept up this pretence that nothing was wrong, but we both knew it wasn’t true.’

  ‘We both being…?’ Ian prompted him.

  ‘My mother and me. We knew it was only a matter of time before he’d kick off again. He was crazy, always yelling at her. It was horrible. I think I always knew he’d go too far one day. I tried to persuade her to leave him, but she wouldn’t even talk about it.’

  His voice shook. He fell silent and sat sipping his tea while tears slipped down his pallid cheeks. Ian remembered the neighbour accusing Henry of having a violent temper, and threatening to kill his wife. The net was closing in on Henry. After a moment, Ian leaned forward.

  ‘What happened in the kitchen today?’ he asked softly.

  He thought of Candy’s son, too young to understand the circumstances of his mother’s death, and wasn’t sure whether he felt more sorry for Joey or Mark. Two dead women. Two motherless sons. Henry had killed his wife. If they could pin the other two murders on him as well, the killing might stop.

  ‘You have to tell us what happened,’ he repeated, more firmly.

  Mark took a deep breath, preparing to talk about his ordeal.

  ‘He came up behind me and put his arm round my neck, here.’

  He pointed to his throat, concealed beneath a black polo neck jumper.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘Not really. But I was scared. He used to hit my mother –’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He said he’d had enough of me and the mess I made around the house. He was really angry because I’d left some stuff on the kitchen table.’

  ‘Stuff?’

  ‘A magazine,’ he frowned with the effort of remembering, ‘an empty crisp packet, my gloves – nothing much. A dirty plate and mug that I’d brought down from my room, stuff like that. He said he was sick of me leaving things lying around everywhere. And then he squeezed my neck really hard.’

  He stared at Ian in silent appeal, his dark eyes wide with remembered terror.

  ‘I thought he was going to kill me.’

  He dropped his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with sobs. Ian gave him a moment then pressed him gently to continue. The boy looked up and nodded.

  ‘You’re doing really well,’ Ian added, helplessly.

  He wished he had left this for an officer trained to question juveniles. But Mark was eighteen. Besides, he had asked to speak to Ian, and he was certainly talking. He might not have spoken so freely to anyone else.

  ‘I punched backwards with my elbow, got him in the guts. I don’t think I hurt him, but it winded him so he loosened his grip. Then I managed to pull away and turn round and I said something like, “Do you want to kill me?” and he said, “If that’s what it takes to get rid of you, then yes. I did for your mother, so why not you? Don’t you know what happens to anyone who gets in my way?” I was so confused, I can’t remember exactly what happened next but I just ran out of the kitchen and saw his car keys on the hall table so I grabbed them and came straight here. I’m not insured to drive his new car, but I was too frightened to stop and think. I was afraid if I tried to get away on foot he’d come after me. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was so scared.’

  Ian reassured the distraught boy he had done the right thing. He was safe now.

  ‘Just for the record, can you repeat what your father said to you about having killed your mother? I know it’s difficult for you, but we have to be clear about this. Are you sure you remember what he said?’

  ‘It’s not something I’ll ever forget. He said, “I did for your mother, so why not you?” That’s what he said.’

  Ian stood up.

  ‘What happens now?’ Mark asked.

  ‘You stay here. I think you know where I’m going.’

  For the first time, the boy gave a strained smile.

  66

  HENRY LEANED AGAINST THE door frame, crossed his arms and heaved an exaggerated sigh when he saw Ian and Polly outside.

  ‘You lot just can’t leave me alone, can you?’

  Ian stepped forward so that his shoulder rested against the door.

  ‘Henry Martin, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder –’

  At first Henry looked startled. Then he shook his head and an irritated expression crossed his face.

  ‘What the hell are you trying now? We’ve been through all this over and over again. You’ve already had me down the nick asking me all sorts of questions. You can’t have forgotten already. You asked me every bloody question under the sun and you’ve still got nothing on me, so why don’t you bugger off and start looking for her killer. She was my wife, remember. I’d like you to find out who did that to her. We were married for thirty-four years. That’s not something you can just walk away from without a second thought. I want to know who killed her and you’re not doing your job, mate. Now fuck off and leave me alone.’

  Ian reached out and seized Henry by the arm. The other man put up no physical resistance, but continued with his tirade.

  ‘You just can’t let it rest, can you? I’m her husband, so it must be me. You’ve got it into your thick heads that I killed Martha, and you can’t accept you got it wrong. And all the time you’re wasting talking to me, instead of getting on with your job. It’s unbelievable. I’ve told you everything I can, there’s no point going over it all again.’

  ‘We’ve received some new information.’

  ‘What information?’

  ‘A witness has come forward.’

  ‘What witness? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Come along, Mr Martin. Let’s do this at the station.’

  Still grumbling, Henry allowed Ian to lead him down the path to the waiting car.

  ‘And you can fuck off and all,’ he shouted to the next-door neighbour who was peering at them over her gate.

  ‘It’s about time you locked him up,’ she called to Ian.

  She stood watching them as they drove away.

  Henry sat with his arms folded, refusing to answer any questions until his lawyer arrived.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘You think you can bully me into agreeing to your trumped up story. You’ll do anything to get a conviction, never mind if you’re chasing after the wrong person.’

  Ian waited patiently until everything was in place.

  ‘There had better be a good reason for this harassment,’ Henry said, when his grey-haired lawyer was at his side.

  The solicitor looked bored. ‘My client has already answered all your questions on a previous occasion, so unless you have any new information –’

  ‘Oh, we have new information all right,’ Ian answered promptly. ‘And our information places you firmly back in the frame, Mr Martin.’ He leaned back in his chair, smiling. ‘We’ve got a witness who swears that you not only threatened to kill him, but you confessed to killing your wife. Read out what he said, Constable. Let’s hear the exact words.’

  While Polly leafed through her notebook, the solicitor whispered to Henry, then sat up and waved his hand in the air dismissively.

  ‘My client’s position is clear. He never so much as touched his wife, and your witness is lying.’

  ‘The exact words please, Constable.’

  Polly cleared her throat.

  ‘This is a complete load of bollocks,’ Henry snapped.

  ‘Listen,’ Ian repeated quietly, ‘listen and then dismiss it if you can.’

  ‘The witness states the suspect assaulted him. The witness said, “Do you want to kill me?” to which Henry Martin replied, “If that’s what it t
akes to get rid of you, then yes. I did for your mother, so why not you?” The witness was clear those were the exact words his father used.’

  The solicitor glanced anxiously at Henry who sat perfectly still, looking perplexed.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Henry muttered. ‘I don’t get it.’ He turned to the lawyer. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It means,’ Ian answered before the lawyer could respond, ‘your son came to us after you attacked him, and told us what you confessed to him. He said he didn’t care about you hurting him –’

  ‘Hurting him?’ Henry echoed.

  ‘But he wants to see you punished for killing his mother. Try talking your way out of that!’

  Alert now, the lawyer spoke swiftly as he requested a moment alone with his client. Henry had gone very pale.

  ‘I never hurt my boy,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t understand.’ His eyes lit up suddenly. ‘They’re lying,’ he cried out, grasping at the lawyer’s sleeve. ‘They’re lying.’

  He turned wild eyes to Ian. ‘Don’t think you can make this stick, you arsehole. You think you can trick me into confessing to something I didn’t do. My boy never said any of those filthy lies. You’ve got no right – no right –’

  ‘A moment alone with my client, please,’ the lawyer insisted.

  Out in the corridor, Ian sent for the statement Mark had signed while they were apprehending Henry. He smiled grimly at Polly.

  ‘Poor kid,’ she muttered once again, staring at the document Ian was holding. ‘He’s only just eighteen.’

  ‘Pretty terrible at any age, discovering your dad killed your mother,’ Ian said. ‘Come on, then, they’ve had their moment.’

  Any vestiges of sympathy he might have felt for Henry had vanished along with his doubts about the man’s guilt. Henry had killed his wife and two more women. He would tell them the truth if they had to force it out of him.

  ‘We know you killed your wife,’ Ian began.

  ‘Oh give it a rest, for fuck’s sake,’ Henry burst out, his aggravation getting the better of him.

  The solicitor raised a restraining hand. A gold signet ring gleamed on his little finger. Without another word, Ian placed Mark’s statement on the table in front of Henry.

  Henry squinted down at the document. ‘What the hell’s this?’

  ‘The suspect is looking at a signed statement from his son, Mark,’ Ian announced for the benefit of the recording. He turned to Henry. ‘Would you like to read it aloud?’

  Henry’s voice was wooden. ‘I was in the kitchen making toast, when my father came in. He looked angry. He’s always had a foul temper. He used to shout at my mother all the time for little things, like if she put too much milk in his tea. She told me there was nothing wrong, but I knew it wasn’t normal, the way he carried on. He was always yelling at her. Anyway, I was making the toast and he walked round behind me and put his arm round my neck…’ Henry broke off and looked up with a baffled expression.

  ‘Go on.’

  As though in a daze, Henry resumed reading aloud. ‘My father was complaining I’d left some stuff on the kitchen table. He said he was sick of me leaving stuff everywhere. And he squeezed my neck really hard. I think he wanted to kill me…’

  Henry broke off. The paper shook in his hand. Gently he replaced it on the table. He looked stunned, as though unable to comprehend what he had just read.

  ‘Shall I go on?’ Ian asked.

  Henry didn’t answer so Ian picked up the statement and continued reading it aloud.

  ‘I punched backwards with my elbow into his guts and winded him so he let me go. Then I said something like, “What are you doing? You could have killed me. Are you trying to kill me?” and he said, “If that’s what it takes to get rid of you, then yes. I did for your mother, so why not you? Don’t you know what happens to anyone who gets in my way?” I can’t remember exactly what happened next but I just ran out of the house and came straight here.’

  Ian put the statement down.

  ‘He signed it, Henry. That’s your son’s statement. What have you got to say now?’

  Henry shook his head, his face completely blank. After his earlier bluster he was oddly quiet.

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ he whispered at last.

  ‘Mark signed it.’

  ‘You leave my boy out of this. If I’m to go down, maybe it’s no more than I deserve.’ He dropped his head in his hands. ‘Just leave the boy alone. He’s been through more than enough already.’

  ‘Are you ready to confess to murdering your wife? You can make this all a lot easier if you just tell us the truth.’

  ‘Easier for you,’ Henry muttered, without looking up.

  After that, he refused to say any more. Even his brief couldn’t persuade him to speak again.

  67

  IT WAS HARD TO believe they had caught the killer. By now everyone in Herne Bay and Margate police stations knew Henry was responsible for the murders of Martha, Jade and Candy. With a conviction assured, Rob decided to leave the next stage of the interrogation until the morning. There was no longer a sense of urgency in his orders as he strolled into the Incident Room in Herne Bay. At this stage of an investigation there was usually a sense of elation at discovering the identity of the killer and carrying out a successful arrest. On this occasion the atmosphere felt strangely flat, perhaps because they all knew there was still a lot of work to be done before the files were closed. No one suggested a celebratory drink, no one was even smiling, apart from the detective inspector.

  ‘Come on, guys, we’ve got him!’ he announced with forced exuberance.

  An awkward silence greeted his announcement.

  ‘Yay!’ a constable called out lamely.

  ‘A man killed his wife and two other women, and attacked his son,’ someone else said.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, this is supposed to be a victory, not a bloody funeral wake,’ Rob grumbled as he stomped out of the room, his good spirits dampened.

  Back at Woolsmarsh and bored of paperwork, Ian escaped to the canteen for a break. His spirits sank when he saw Rob pause on the threshold and scan the room as though looking for someone. Rob caught sight of him and marched purposefully over to sit at his table. Ian nodded without speaking. He was entitled to a break.

  ‘I’ve got some news for you,’ Rob said.

  ‘A confession?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Has Henry confessed? That’s the only news that would interest me right now. It’s late and I’m knackered.’

  He wondered whether to offer to buy Rob tea and a bun, only he couldn’t be bothered to get up.

  ‘This isn’t to do with the case,’ Rob said.

  Ian frowned, puzzled, but Rob was smiling.

  ‘Then what –?’

  ‘This is about you, Ian.’

  ‘Me?’

  Rob nodded. ‘Christ, you’re a bit slow on the uptake. I wonder if you’re really up to the task. What news have you been waiting for?’

  Ian couldn’t help grinning as he realised Rob was talking about his promotion. His colleague’s smile signalled the news was good.

  ‘Is it – am I –?’ He couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘Congratulations, Detective Inspector! Of course it was a foregone conclusion, with your record, but well done anyway.’

  ‘Jesus. I can’t believe it. That’s brilliant!’

  Rob smiled back at him.

  ‘Come along to my office when you’re done here,’ he said as he stood up, ‘and then you’d better get off home and see how your wife feels about moving.’

  ‘Moving?’

  ‘Yes, they accepted your application up in Yorkshire right away. Can’t say I blame them. They’re lucky to get you, and it’s a great opportunity for you to work in a different area, see a different part of the country. We’ll tell the rest of the team tomorrow. Now you get off home and tell your wife you’ve been taken on up there. You should let her know first.’

  Rob was rig
ht, of course. Ian would have to tell Bev. When a vacancy had come up in Yorkshire he had applied for it on impulse, desperate to get as far away from his in-laws as possible. But he hadn’t mentioned it to his wife. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about moving to Yorkshire himself. It would give him the chance to prove himself as an inspector, but while he was looking forward to the challenge, Bev would be moving solely for his sake. It had been her choice to buy an expensive house in Tunbridge Wells which they could barely afford on his sergeant’s salary. That was one reason for all the additional hours overtime he worked, whenever he could. There were a lot of benefits to his promotion, if Bev could be persuaded to see it that way. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he drove home. Usually he put his foot down. Tonight he crawled along letting every other car overtake him. The case was over, and he had his promotion. This should have been one of the best nights of his life. After all his hard work, instead of celebrating, he was dreading going home to confront his wife with the news. He played out the scene over and over in his mind, rehearsing different ways to tell her. Each imagined outcome ended with her shrieking at him.

  ‘The north of England? Are you serious? You expect me to go and live in Yorkshire?’

  He resolved not to mess around, but to come straight out with it. No sweet-talking, no sitting down with a bottle of wine – she would probably throw it at him anyway. He would simply tell her the news. Bev was his wife. She should be pleased for him. Psyching himself up, he went into the house and found her watching television. She glanced up and smiled. That was a good start. He noticed she was watching her favourite soap and decided not to interrupt her viewing. The news that their lives were about to radically change could wait while characters acted out fictitious lives on screen. Bev was happily watching them fighting, kissing, and shouting at one another. It was best not to disturb her. He wandered into the kitchen and opened a bottle of champagne, downed a glass, refilled it, knocked it back again and refilled it once more. It was an expensive sort of Dutch courage. He would have been just as happy with a beer.