‘About fucking time,’ he had snarled, reaching into the car and grabbing the phone.
When he had seen Paul West’s name flashing on the screen, his face had creased in confusion.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ he’s barked.
‘It’s gone tits up, Jimmy,’ West had sounded out of breath, as if he had been running.
‘Put Acton on, I want a word with that bastard.’
‘I can’t, boss, he did a fucking runner and the cops have collared Stevie and—’
‘What?’ Rae had exploded, as he stepped back into the rain.
He listened as West told him about what had gone down at Collier’s place, about how he had been downstairs with Stevie Harrow upstairs, taking a look in the bedrooms, then the wail of sirens and the flashing blue lights had arrived.
‘I managed to scarper out the back and made my way back to the road but the bastard was nowhere to be seen, I tried ringing the prick but he’s not answering,’ West finished with a heavy sigh.
Suddenly, Jimmy Rae’s paranoia went into overdrive as the pieces started to slot into place. The clouds in his mind parted briefly as he pictured Acton’s face, only now he saw a cunning in the man’s eyes, an insolence hidden in the depths.
‘You still there, Jimmy?’ West had asked.
‘What was Acton doing in the car, I told him I wanted him to check the house out and …’
‘He never mentioned that, he just parked up and told us to sort it.’
‘Bastard!’ Rae bellowed into the rain-drenched darkness. ‘I want to know where Acton is.’
‘I don’t have a bloody clue where he is, I mean, I was lucky to get out of there but I hung around until the coppers collared Stevie and then I did a runner.’
‘And you’re sure Acton had vanished?’
‘Yeah, yeah, Jimmy, I’ve already told you he scarpered and left us in the shit.’
‘I want him found, and I want him found now!’
‘But I don’t even have any wheels, boss, I’m fucking drenched and—’
‘Do you think I give a fuck about you being wet?’ Rae’s voice had matched the hissing of the rain.
‘I guess not,’ West had sounded disappointed as if he expected some sympathy from Rae.
‘Just find the cunt and when you do, I want to know ASAP.’
‘Right. Jimmy, I’ll—’
Rae had jabbed at the phone, ending the call before climbing back into the car.
Now, he stood in the kitchen of his home, his shoes leaving small puddles of rainwater on the tiled floor. His mind crammed with faces, Phelps, Acton, Chelsea, and Tam all spinning around in his fractured mind, picking up speed until he couldn’t discern one from another.
Staggering across the room, he snatched the whisky bottle from the cupboard, spun the cap and took a glug, feeling the heat flow through his chest, stoking the embers of anger that smouldered in his soul.
Outside, the darkness was absolute.
68
Marnie poured the drinks before sitting on the sofa and curling her legs beneath her.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
Bev nodded and took a sip from the glass. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, the swine hurt my pride more than anything.’
Marnie smiled as she placed the drink on the table and slipped the cigarettes from her pocket.
‘I didn’t know you smoked?’ Bev said in surprise.
Marnie looked at the pack in disgust. ‘I like to pretend I don’t but smokers are always full of shit,’ she replied as she pulled one free and lit it.
‘Do you think the guy you collared did the killing?’
Marnie had been giving the question some serious thought on the way back home, now she took another pull watching the smoke trail into the air but then she stubbed it out in disgust.
‘To be honest I’m not sure. I mean, you saw the body, the stains on the bedroom floor looked dry, which suggest the guy has been dead for more than a few hours.’
‘Maybe Doc Kelly will be able to tell us more,’ Bev offered.
Marnie picked up the drink and took a sip from the glass. ‘I just don’t get any of this. I mean, someone called the station about the killing, right?’
Bev nodded and stifled a yawn. ‘That’s right.’
‘Well, if the man we have in custody was responsible then why was he still at the house and who the hell put the call in?’
Bev frowned as she tried to think of a reply. ‘I have no idea, according to dispatch the caller just gave the address and said someone had been murdered before hanging up.’
‘So, someone must have been in the house before our man hid in the bathroom.’
‘It looks that way,’ Bev admitted.
‘And you said that you and Rogers arrived roughly at the same time?’
‘That’s right,’ Bev said, stifling another yawn.
‘OK, chances are the guy hears you coming and he can’t escape through the front of the house so he panics and hides in the bathroom.’
‘But if he didn’t kill the man then what was he doing there in the first place?’
This time it was Marnie’s turn to look perplexed. None of this made sense, and then her eyes narrowed momentarily as she went through the facts. When the notion popped into her head her eyes widened.
‘What if it was the real killer who put the call in?’
‘But why would someone do that, what would be the point?’ Bev asked in reply.
Marnie chewed her bottom lip as her mind searched for an answer. ‘Perhaps they knew someone was in the house and they phoned it in to try and pin the blame on them.’
Bev touched the bump on her head and winced. ‘That makes a kind of sense I guess but it still doesn’t explain what the man was doing in the house in the first place.’
‘We need to identify the dead man then maybe we’ll find out what role they he had in all this.’
When Marnie glanced up, Bev’s eyes were closed.
‘Listen, why don’t you sleep here for the night?’
Bev opened her eyes and smiled. ‘Sorry, it’s been an eventful day and I guess it’s catching up with me.’
‘What about the date you had planned?’
‘I rang him from the house and cancelled,’ Bev explained.
‘OK, you know where the spare room is so why don’t you get your head down for a few hours?’
Bev drained the glass before rising to her feet. ‘I’ll just rinse the glass and head upstairs.’
‘Give it here,’ Marnie said, taking the glass from her.
‘Thanks, boss, I owe you one.’ Bev crossed the room and headed into the hallway. Marnie eased back onto the sofa before reaching for another cigarette, she was just going to touch the flame to the paper when Bev reappeared.
‘I found this on the mat,’ she said, handing the manila-coloured envelope over.
Marnie looked at it in surprise.
‘Night, boss,’ Bev said, vanishing back through the door.
Marnie listened to her footfall on the stairs and then she lit the cigarette before placing it in the ashtray and looking at the plain envelope in her hand. Seconds later, she ripped it open and pulled out the folded piece of paper. Opening it, the gasp caught in her throat as she read the words.
Rowan Hall is alive – for now.
Marnie licked her lips, tasting wine and fear on her tongue as her eyes dropped down to the next line.
No doubt I now have your attention, your hand is shaking as you read this, your heart beating fast, your bitch mind trying to find the answers. Believe me, there are none, I am in control, I was ALWAYS in control.
Marnie tore her eyes away from the words and looked around the room, her breathing shallow and fast as she tried to steady her nerves. Then, taking a deep breath, she dipped her head and continued to read.
You know all about missing girls, don’t you, Sergeant Hammond? You know all about Conrad Boland and the fun he had, the joy that they provided.
Marnie
almost crushed the paper as the words slammed into her.
You failed to save your sister – such a hothead – let’s see if you can do a better job of saving Rowan Hall.
Marnie sprang to her feet and dashed down the hallway, snatching open the front door. The wind blew into the hall bringing the rain with it, her eyes scanned left and right but the road was empty apart from the neighbour’s cars and a black cat that flitted across the road before vanishing into a bank of bushes. No one in sight. Not even a shadow remained.
She closed the door and looked down at the paper, her eyes skimming over the words until she reached the final paragraph.
So many bodies and yet you have no idea about the truth, do you? None of you do. Your boss, DCI Reese, has no more idea than PC Harvey. It’s amusing watching you all. You run around, so busy, and yet you get nowhere. First, Mr Whitlow, and then the puzzle of the decapitated man, and now Phelps is missing and so is poor Rowan, not to mention her dead father. Make no mistake, the clock is ticking and soon she will die, though not before THEY have their fun.
Marnie felt her stomach churn in fear as she read the words.
Of course, if you breathe a word of this to anyone then the girl dies, her blood will be on your hands and it will be another missing girl to add to your collection. Another body you will never find, more guilt, more blame. I wonder how much you can take before you lose your sanity?
Ten girl’s names, live in Marnie’s head
Ten girl’s skulls, she takes them all to bed.
And if one more girl should accidentally die …
Well you get the picture, don’t you?
Marnie felt her grip on reality slip as she read the words.
Now, try to do your job and let’s see how you fair, but remember, not a word or I will know and Rowan will die. Tick-tock, Detective Sergeant Marnie Hammond.
Seconds later, she had her coat on, car keys in hand as she headed out into the darkness, the wind and rain battering her senses.
69
Rae sat in the darkness, the bottle of whisky within easy reach, his eyes glaring out through the French windows, the shotgun placed on the kitchen table.
His mind churned with emotion as he thought of the last few days and how his world was unravelling at an alarming rate. It had all started with Tam and then escalated as Chelsea was attacked by the unknown prick. She had tried to convince him that her attacker knew nothing about the death of Tam, but what if she had been lying? He pictured her bloodied face against the stark white pillow, her eyes wide and filled with fear, but had it been fear of him or what the attacker would do if she gave the game away?
Lifting the bottle, he took another glug before wiping a hand across his lips.
Then there was Phelps who hadn’t even been in touch since Tam died and now the filth had been at his place of work and also at his home. The more the alcohol took hold the more he lost the ability to rationalise the situation, all the players became mixed together until he came to the conclusion that they were all working together in an effort to bring him down. Rae snarled as he pictured Acton, no doubt the leader of the bastards, working from the inside and telling tales. His fury gnawed away at his insides, how could he have missed the obvious? Someone had been feeding information to his enemy and it had to be Acton. Rae grunted, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone, when he saw the blank screen he slammed it down onto the table. He had left messages and still Acton had failed to respond, even Paul fucking West had vanished off the radar. In his drink-fuelled mind West simply became another name, another face that couldn’t be trusted.
The seconds slid into minutes as he remained seated at the table, the whisky fogging his thoughts, the anger stoking his paranoia.
Yet more whisky followed as he tried to obliterate the feeling of impotence, he tried to think of someone to call, someone to take his anger out on but every time he conjured a face his demented mind screamed the word traitor.
Slowly Rae slipped towards madness, he had lived his life balancing between paranoia and insanity and at last the pressure tipped him over the edge. As the darkness in his mind grew deeper Jimmy Rae knew only one thing with certainty, he would hunt them all down one by one and kill the fuckers, kill them all!
70
Marnie pulled the car over to the side of the road, her hands resting on the wheel, her mind going over the letter again. Flicking off the wipers and lights she watched the rain pour down the glass and tried to filter her raw emotion from the equation.
Whoever had written the letter had mentioned Whitlow and the unnamed dead man at Collier’s house, they had known about John Hall and they claimed to have Rowan. There had been no mention of Hamer, no mention of Chelsea being attacked or Tom Conway.
Marnie looked out into the rippling darkness. When she had first read the letter the mention of her sister had felt like a knife to the heart, though the truth was anyone could have looked into her past without too much effort, it didn’t mean that the writer of the letter had some insight into what had happened to Abby. Marnie’s hands tightened on the wheel, she had to think straight and not let her emotions rule her head. The letter might have been a mixture of truth and fiction but there was little doubt that the author knew about Rowan Hall and Phelps. The trouble was, it was impossible to sort the truth from the lies, the letter had promised that if she sought help from her colleagues then the writer would know about it and Rowan would die. Marnie felt the pressure threatening to freeze her into immobility, she thrust the door open and clambered out into the darkness, the rain landing on her dark hair and peppering her face.
She set off walking, sure-footed on the uneven track, the potholes full to the brim with filthy rainwater, the wind blasting her hair back. Reaching the end of the row of terraced houses, she glanced into the darkened front room of Tom Conway’s home, then she moved left and paused for a moment before hammering on the door of Bill Armitage’s house.
Somewhere inside she heard the dog bark and hesitated for a moment then attacked the door again, when the hall light pinged to life she stepped back.
‘Who the bloody hell’s banging on my door at this time of night?’
‘Mr Armitage, it’s Sergeant Hammond, we spoke the other day.’
She heard the click of the lock and the sound of a bolt being drawn back, then Bill Armitage peered out at her, he was dressed in striped pyjama bottoms and an off-white vest.
‘You look drenched,’ he said, stepping back and opening the door.
Marnie stepped over the threshold. ‘Has Tom Conway been in touch?’
Bill closed the door and ushered her into the front room. ‘No, but your lot were at the house earlier banging the bloody door down,’ he said with a scowl.
Marnie ignored the look of anger on the old man’s face. ‘Listen to me, this is important, I really need to speak to Conway, so if you have any idea where he is
then—’
‘What makes you think I know where Tom is, he’s his own man?’
Marnie stepped forward as the dog wandered in from the kitchen, tail wagging. ‘You’ve known Tom all his life, you went fishing together, you were friends with his mother and father.’
‘So what?’
‘So, right now he doesn’t have many people he can call on for help, he murdered a man and—’
‘What are you talking about?’ Bill demanded and licked his lips.
As soon as Marnie saw the reflex action her eyes narrowed. ‘He told you, didn’t he?’
A flood of colour rose in his grizzled cheeks. ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, now it’s late …’
‘He told me himself that he killed a man named Hamer.’ Marnie tossed the hand grenade and watched Armitage bluster in disbelief.
‘Bollocks, Tom would never—’
‘Kill anyone?’ she interrupted. ‘He’s served in the army for the best part of twenty years, it’s what he was trained to do, so don’t try and tell me that he’s not capable of killi
ng.’
‘Oh, he’s capable all right but he would only do it if the bastard deserved it and he wouldn’t go telling no copper if he had.’
Marnie hesitated, she didn’t have the time to argue so she lifted the letter from her pocket and held it out.
Bill looked at it suspiciously before glancing up at Marnie. ‘What’s this?’
Marnie extended her arm. ‘Just read it,’ she insisted.
Bill’s eyes widened slightly, reaching out a liver-spotted hand he plucked it from her fingers.
Marnie stepped back, the dog hovering by her side, reaching down she stroked its head, though she never took her eyes off Bill as he started to read. She watched as the colour that had flooded his cheeks vanished, his eyes widening in shock.
‘Some bastard’s got Rowan Hall?’ he glanced at Marnie and she nodded.
‘Finish it and then we’ll talk,’ she replied.
By the time he had read the letter, his hands were shaking, his eyes full of distress. ‘John’s dead?’ he looked up again, his face blasted with shock.
‘We found him at the family home, someone had attacked him in the garage.’
Bill’s face crumpled for a moment and then he straightened his shoulders. ‘I still don’t understand what you want Tom for. If what you say is true and he killed some bugger then he wouldn’t have done it without reason.’
Marnie closed her eyes for a moment, the voice of reason screaming that this was wrong, she shouldn’t be here telling a virtual stranger about an ongoing murder investigation but the threat in the letter was not something she was prepared to ignore. The thought that the writer would somehow know if she tried to involve her colleagues was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take. It hinted at them knowing someone on the force, someone who was passing on information.
‘You’ve read the letter, whoever wrote it knows a lot but there’s no mention of David Hamer—’
‘Who’s Hamer?’
‘The man that Tom Conway admitted killing, and after he’d finished he went to see Tam Whitlow’s sister and used a knife on her to get the information he wanted. Chelsea must have given him the name of a man called Phelps, he’s Jimmy Rae’s solicitor.’
Cut The Threads: A Serial Killer Thriller That Will Keep You Hooked (DS Marnie Hammond Book 2) Page 21
