Cut The Threads: A Serial Killer Thriller That Will Keep You Hooked (DS Marnie Hammond Book 2)

by Robin Roughley

  One or two people looked his way as he headed over to the bar, the landlord smiled before flicking a towel over his shoulder and placing his meaty hands on the bar. ‘Evening, what can I get you?’

  Conway dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. ‘Pint of Guinness, please.’

  The smile stayed on the landlord’s plump face as he slid a pint glass under the pump and flicked a switch.

  Conway looked in the large mirror over the bar, instinctively checking out the room; he could see a young couple sitting at a table staring lovingly into one another’s eyes. Behind them, a group of men sat in the corner – sour-faced individuals, four in all – playing a hand of cards, the table held a scattering of crumpled notes as they played for the pot. Handing his money over he took a pull from the drink while he waited for his change.

  ‘Not seen you in here before,’ the landlord said, flicking the towel from his shoulder and wiping the bar, leaving a greasy smear across the wood.

  Conway pursed his lips and placed the glass back on the bar. ‘I’m looking for someone,’ he said, as he pocketed the change.

  Colin Barclay raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Let me guess, someone owes you money?’

  Conway smiled. ‘Do I look as if I have money to dish out?’

  The landlord looked him up and down. ‘Aye, money’s tight these days. So, do you have a name for this person you’re looking for?’

  ‘Hamer.’

  Barclay’s face soured.

  ‘Someone told me he drinks in here,’ Conway explained.

  ‘Unfortunately, he does.’

  ‘I take it you don’t like the man?’

  Barclay flicked a glance to the men in the corner before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bar. ‘The trouble with running a boozer is you get all sorts coming through the door. Most of the punters are fine but you get the odd few who are a pain in the arse – if you know what I mean?’

  Conway picked the glass up and took another drink. ‘Hamer makes a nuisance of himself then?’

  Barclay’s face twisted into a look of disgust. ‘Believe it or not this used to be a nice, family-friendly boozer but it only takes a few idiots to drive the decent folk away.’

  Raucous laughter erupted from the corner of the room and Conway glanced in the mirror to see one of the men scooping up the winnings.

  ‘Take those buggers, they shouldn’t be gambling; I’ve tried telling them but they never bloody listen. The thing is, if someone came in from the brewery then I’d lose my licence but those lot don’t give a toss,’ he hissed in impotent anger. ‘They’d just up sticks and go to another pub.’

  ‘Are they friends of Hamer?’ Conway asked.

  ‘I can tell you don’t know what Dave Hamer looks like, he’s the one that just won the hand,’ Barclay explained.

  Conway kept his face straight as he studied the man in the mirror. Hamer was thick-set with black hair cut close to the skull, dressed in a white T-shirt his heavily tattooed, muscular arms on view.

  ‘I take it from the look on your face you don’t like our friend?’ Barclay asked, looking closely at the punter who took another sip from the glass.

  ‘I’ve never met the man.’ Tom admitted.

  ‘So, why do you look as if you want to walk over there and rip his head from his shoulders?’

  Ignoring the question, Conway drained the glass and placed it back on the bar, ‘Nice pint,’ he replied, turning and walking out of the pub.

  Barclay watched the man go, before looking over towards the four men ensconced in the corner of the room.

  ‘Four pints, Barclay, and get a move on!’ Hamer shouted as he stuffed the winnings into his pocket.

  The barman glowered and then he smiled, with a bit of luck the tall stranger would be having words with Hamer, and from the look of the man, he was a hard bastard who might well put a stop to Dave Hamer’s fun and games. Barclay felt a flicker of hope as he grabbed four glasses and started to fill them with ale.

  21

  After leaving Rae’s home Marnie had put a call into the station to get Tam Whitlow’s home address.

  Now, she pulled up in front of a newly-built detached house on a clean and tidy estate. A four by four BMW was parked on the drive, a woman had just parked and was walking towards the front door, key in hand.

  Stepping from the car, Marnie walked up the drive as the woman turned to look at her, she was around thirty, dressed in jeans and a flowery top, her black hair tied back, her narrow face heavy with make-up. Marnie tried a smile and received a frown in return.

  ‘Who are you?’ the woman asked, looking Marnie up and down with suspicion.

  Marnie pulled out her warrant card, watching as the women’s face grew crab-apple sour.

  ‘If you’re looking for Tam he isn’t in.’

  Marnie came to a halt and slid the card back into her pocket. ‘You know Mr Whitlow?’

  ‘I should do, I’m Chelsea Whitlow, Tam’s sister, and whatever you think he’s done –think again,’ the woman finished with a sly smile.

  Marnie held the sigh in check, the woman pulled out her car keys and started to walk back towards the BMW. As she drew level Marnie stepped in front, blocking her path.

  Whitlow’s sister looked at her in surprise, her face hardening. ‘Move,’ she demanded in a brittle no-nonsense voice.

  ‘Can you tell me the last time you saw your brother?’ Marnie asked politely, her hands held easily at her side, her eyes watchful.

  ‘If you know the Whitlows then you know we never talk to the filth,’ her narrow chin jutted out in pride, her eyes sparking.

  This time the sigh escaped Marnie’s lips. ‘To be honest, I don’t know your brother …’

  ‘Yeah well, Tam’s the same as me so if you don’t shift then I’ll give my solicitor a call and …’

  ‘Your solicitor?’ Marnie asked with a frown.

  The woman sneered. ‘Believe me, he’ll have plenty to say if you don’t scarper.’

  ‘That sounds like a threat to me,’ Marnie felt her own anger flicker to life as the woman gloated.

  ‘One call from me and Arnie Phelps will tie you in knots and sue the arse off you,’ Chelsea replied confidently, stepping forward.

  Marnie didn’t budge and the woman stopped in surprise as if she were unused to a mere copper ignoring her warning.

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ she said, pulling an iPhone from her pocket.

  Reaching out a hand Marnie placed it on the woman’s arm. ‘I just want a word about your brother, this is serious and …’

  ‘You had your warning, bitch,’ Whitlow’s sister spat, tapping at the screen with her blood red, talon-like false nail.

  ‘We have reason to believe that your brother has been murdered,’ Marnie said swiftly, watching the woman’s eyes spring wide and then narrow to mere slits in an instant.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘We found a body two nights ago, and …’

  ‘Is this some kind of sick joke, because if it is …?’

  ‘No joke,’ Marnie said. ‘I’ve just come from Mr Rae’s home …’

  ‘What’s Jimmy got to do with this?’

  Marnie could feel the sudden waves of uncertainty flowing from the woman.

  ‘Rae was the one who identified your brother’s remains,’ she explained.

  The woman lurched back, her face warped in a snarl, Marnie stayed where she was, her face impassive, her eyes still vigilant.

  ‘You’re lying!’

  ‘I know this has come as a shock, but …’

  ‘Tam can’t be dead!’

  Marnie tried to find some words of comfort but the woman in front of her suddenly looked furious as any hint of shock vanished.

  ‘Bitch!’ she screamed, lunging forward, arms outstretched, her nails flashing out.

  In one swift move, Marnie whipped her head back, swivelled at the waist, yanked the woman’s arm hard behind her back and thrust her into the rear of t
he BMW with a thump.

  ‘Calm down,’ she hissed into her ear. Chelsea Whitlow whipped her head around, her teeth snapping like a rabid dog as she tried to sink her teeth into Marnie’s cheek.

  With a grunt, Marnie put more pressure on the arm and another scream ripped from Chelsea’s twisted mouth, her cheek pressed hard into the rear window of the car.

  ‘If you don’t behave then I’ll take you to the station and you can spend the night in the cells until you calm down.’

  ‘Oh, you are in so much shit, you slag, I’ll make sure of that!’

  Marnie tightened her grip and the woman grunted in pain.

  ‘If you won’t believe me about your brother then I suggest you ring Rae and let him explain what happened.’

  ‘And how can I do that with you breaking my fucking arm?’ she snarled.

  Marnie released her grip and stepped back, poised to defend herself if Whitlow came at her again. The woman turned, rubbing at her arm, her eyes alight with fury.

  ‘Ring him,’ Marnie prompted.

  Moments later, she had her phone out, the light from the screen illuminating her angry features. Marnie could hear the ringing tone and then the mumbled voice when Rae answered. As the conversation unfolded, Marnie took another step back, then the woman’s face crumpled and she could see the anger replaced by a look that had no name. When the phone fell from her hand, the woman’s legs buckled and she fell heavily to her knees as her world fell apart.

  22

  Conway sat behind the wheel, his eyes locked on the front of The Bull; his face hidden in shadow as he watched the occasional punter enter the pub. The couple he had seen earlier looking lovingly at one another left hand in hand, close together as if joined at the hip. He watched them walk away, moving from one streetlight to the next until they disappeared around the corner.

  He thought of Emma Winstanley, trapped in a hostel, afraid to go through the door, her fingernails chewed to the quick, her eyes laced with a perpetual look of fear. Then he pictured Hamer, a wide grin on his face as he scooped his winnings from the table, not a care in the world.

  The door of The Bull opened and the man himself appeared with his three friends in tow. Hamer paused to shrug his jacket on and light a cigarette and then the group split, two going left and Hamer and his crony heading right.

  Conway kept his eyes locked on the mirror as the two men swaggered down the street, a stream of cigarette smoke trailing over Hamer’s right shoulder.

  Thirty seconds later, they had merged with the shadows, only then did he start the car and spin it around, the headlights slashed through the gloom, picking out the two men in the distance.

  The car crept past a few terraced houses, then the area to the left opened, revealing a stretch of wasteland, piles of bricks lay scattered around as if a bomb had dropped and demolished the rest of the houses in the row.

  When he was twenty yards from the men, Conway slotted the car into third and drove past before pulling up to the kerb, opening the car door he climbed out and walked around the car and onto the pavement.

  Hamer and his mate were striding along, laughing and joking, oblivious to the tall man who stood by his car, arms by his sides, legs spread.

  Waiting.

  When Hamer threw his head back and laughed, he spotted the man and immediately grabbed his friend’s arm and nodded towards Conway.

  The two men hesitated, then Hamer smiled as he walked forward, shoulder to shoulder with his mate with his crooked nose and old acne scars.

  ‘Aye, aye what do we have here?’ Hamer said.

  Conway didn’t flinch as the two men stopped six feet away. ‘I want a word with you,’ he said.

  Hamer frowned, flicking his cigarette to the floor. ‘Do I know you, pal?’

  Stepping forward, Conway saw the two men tense in surprise.

  ‘I’m looking for a friend.’

  Hamer leered. ‘You a gay boy!?’

  ‘His name is John Hall.’ Conway continued, ignoring the barbed remark.

  Hamer narrowed his eyes in recognition of the name. ‘Are you after a fucking kicking?’

  ‘You turned up at the hostel shouting the odds and Hall kicked you out on your sorry arse,’ Conway stated.

  The friend frowned in confusion before looking at Hamer, whose face bloomed with colour, his eyes wide in shock. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about but you’d better get back in your car and fuck off right now.’

  ‘I want to know who you’re working for?’ Conway took another step forward.

  ‘He must be pissed, Davy Boy,’ Hamer’s friend said, cracking his knuckles.

  Conway ignored him completely, his dark eyes boring into Hamer’s rapidly-nervous face.

  ‘Look, pal, I don’t know who you are but …’

  ‘Someone told me you’re a pimp and a drug dealer.’

  Hamer fumed, his eyes hardening. ‘Who told you that?’ he spat.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who.’

  ‘I bet it was that slag, Emma,’ Hamer snarled.

  Conway lifted a hand and Hamer fell silent. ‘You see, the thing is, I’ve met people like you before, you swagger around as if you own the place but we both know you’re nothing but a monkey, an errand boy, so I want to know who tosses you the nuts?’

  ‘Oh, you are so dead!’ Hamer started to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet, stoking his anger. His friend grinned and lunged forward, swinging a fist towards Conway’s face. Instead of backing off, Conway blasted forward, swatting the arm away before driving his fist into the man’s face, his crooked nose crumpled and blood sprayed out in an arc.

  Hamer lurched back, stunned, as his friend crashed to his knees. Grabbing a handful of the kneeling man’s hair, Conway slammed his knee into his jaw. Head snapping back, arms thrown out, his eyes fluttered closed and he slammed to the ground with a sickening thud.

  Dave Hamer knew he was out of his depth and he turned to run, the fear clambering all over him as his friend lay on the gum-stained pavement, his nose ruined, his jaw now locked over to the right, bloody stumps where his teeth had smashed.

  Before he could take a single step, he felt the man grab the collar of his jacket and yank him back.

  ‘Please, I don’t…’ Hamer yelped as he felt himself being dragged over towards the car.

  ‘Get in,’ Conway said, pulling the passenger door open.

  Hamer tried to get away but screamed when a block of pain exploded in his lower back as Conway drove his fist forwards.

  ‘If you don’t get in, I’ll break both your arms.’

  Hamer heard the voice, calm and seemingly unconcerned, then he was thrust into the car, sprawling across the seat, the door slamming shut behind him.

  Seconds later, Conway climbed behind the wheel and Hamer groaned when he heard the central locking click into place.

  ‘Now, let’s find somewhere quiet then you can tell me all about the people you work for.’

  ‘Please, I don’t know anything, I …’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Conway said, pulling away from the kerb. Hamer glanced through the rear window, his friend lay prone on the pavement, the sprawled shape slowly diminishing before vanishing into the shadows. The fear rose, he glanced at the man at his side, his hands on the wheel, his face flickering in the passing streetlights, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Hamer asked in a stuttering voice.

  Conway ignored him as he went through the gears.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what that slag’s been saying about me but …’

  Tom Conway lashed out, the back of his hand cracked across Hamer’s cheek forcing him to lurch towards the passenger door in fear, his head ringing from the blow.

  ‘I want to know what happened the night you turned up at the hostel?’ Conway asked, both hands resting back on the wheel, his dark eyes focused on the road.

  Dave Hamer held a hand up to his stinging cheek, his eyes wide with shock and indignation
.

  Conway turned left into open fields, the darkness closed in and Hamer felt the fear squirm through his gut – running rampant and demolishing the usual bravado.

  After two hundred yards, the car eased left down a dirt track bordered on either side by stunted hawthorn bushes, pulling the car into a small lay-by, Conway flicked off the headlights before turning to Hamer.

  ‘You answer my questions and all you’ll be faced with is a long walk home, you mess me about and I will break every one of your fingers.’ Conway said easily.

  Hamer remained pressed against the passenger door, his hands held up as if to ward off a blow. ‘Look, I was drunk when I went to the hostel, I can’t remember what happened, I …’

  Conway’s right hand shot out and grabbed Hamer’s left index finger, before he had chance to scream Conway had bent the digit back, the crack sounding loud in the confines of the car.

  Hamer screamed as his hand exploded in pain.

  ‘That’s lie number one out of the way,’ Conway eased back into the shadows. ‘Now, I’ll ask you again, what happened when John Hall threw you out?’

  Hamer cradled his damaged hand, the sweat coursing down his blanched face, the pain building. ‘Please, I can’t remember!’ When he saw Conway’s hand reach out, he cringed back against the door. ‘I told him I wanted the girl and Hall was having none of it,’ he gasped in a rush of words. Hamer shuddered in relief as Conway’s hand vanished back into the shadows.

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  Hamer tried to think but an image rose in his mind, Jimmy Rae looming large, his dark eyes shining with menace. He had worked for Rae for three years, and in that time, he had gone from selling a bit of smack around the estates to looking after a stable of young slags. Rae trusted him and if he broke that trust then Hamer knew Rae would bury him without a second thought.