‘I might have known Rae was involved somewhere,’ Bill grunted, easing down into the chair.
Marnie hesitated before sitting on the lumpy sofa. ‘I went to Phelps’s house and we’re certain that’s where Rowan was being kept but by the time I arrived there was no sign of Phelps or Rowan and that’s when Tom Conway turned up and told me about Hamer.’
Bill sighed heavily. ‘I told you he had a short fuse.’
‘I hope you’re not trying to lay the blame with the police over what your neighbour has done. The truth is he killed a man and yes, Hamer was a bastard but it changes nothing and when this is over I’ll still be looking to arrest him for murder and the assault on Chelsea Whitlow.’
For a moment, she saw the anger flare in Bill’s eyes and then he leaned forward and handed her the letter back.
‘Look, I know you think Tom is some kind of animal but after he lost his parents the only family he had left was John Hall, they were closer than brothers and then Rowan came along and Tom loves the bones of that girl and as far as I am concerned anything he does to get her back is fine by me.’
Marnie folded the letter and nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Don’t give me that, how can someone like you understand what he must be going through? All you want to do is use him to try and get what you want, you—’
‘I was eleven years old when my sister was taken, I was there when she was snatched and I couldn’t stop it happening. The bastard who stole her from me was called Boland.’
Bill lurched back in the chair, his gnarled hands gripping the arms of the chair. ‘What?’ he gasped.
‘I was there when they dug the bones up and every time they found new remains I thought it would be my sister they pulled out of the ground.’ Marnie could feel the turmoil inside as she let the memories flood out. ‘I was there when Boland died, I watched as he burned and I still don’t know what happened to Abby. So, when you say I have no idea how Tom Conway is feeling – you’re wrong. I’ve lived with the torment for almost sixteen years, the not knowing, the endless nightmares where she’s suffering at the hands of that monster, so you can take what you think your friend is feeling and multiply it ten times over and it will still come nowhere near to how I feel,’ she finished with a gasp.
Bill couldn’t move as her words pinned him back in the chair, he had read the papers and watched the news as the horror of what Boland had done was laid bare. The remains of the children they had found in dense woodland had made him heartsick and now he had this copper here telling him that she had been directly linked to Boland via her missing sister.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘I don’t want your pity, I just want to know where Conway is?’ Bill could see the core of steel in her dark eyes.
‘You’ve read the letter, you’ve seen the line where the writer says Rowan will die after “they” have finished with her.’ Marnie let the words sink in, watching as Bill closed his eyes, his bottom lip trembling. When he opened them, she saw distress, the imagined horror, he rose and walked over to a small unit, pulling open the drawer he pulled out an iPhone.
Marnie looked on in surprise, he smiled sadly at her. ‘My grandson got it for me but I’ve never figured out how to use it properly,’ he handed it over.
‘Tom’s mobile number is stored under T,’ he said as he sat back down with a thump.
Marnie’s fingers danced over the screen until she found Conway’s number. ‘Do you have credit?’ she asked.
‘I think so, the grandson said he’d put ten quid on it but that was over four months ago.’
Marnie nodded, before tapping the screen. The phone started to drone and Bill eased back in the chair and closed his eyes, his false teeth clamped together as he waited for Tom to answer.
71
Conway opened his eyes and blinked into the darkness as the phone droned. Leaning forwards, he lifted it from the dashboard, his face creasing in surprise when he saw the name Bill flash up at him, the small light illuminating the interior of the car.
Tapping the screen, he eased back and stifled a yawn. ‘Yeah, Bill, what can I do for you?’
‘Whatever you do, don’t hang up, Mr Conway.’
Tom Conway was wide awake as he recognised the voice of the copper from the cellar. ‘Where’s Bill?’ he asked, sitting up straight and shaking off the last vestiges of sleep.
‘He’s here with me. I called at his house and he was kind enough to let me use his phone so I could contact you.’
Conway scowled at the news. ‘Did he now?’
‘We need to talk and we need to do it now.’
‘What are you talking about—’
‘It’s about Rowan.’
Rain blurred the windscreen, the silence stretched out.
‘What about her?’
‘I’m not prepared to discuss things over the phone.’
Conway felt the anger flare in his brain. ‘You seriously expect me to meet with you – you’ll come down on me like a ton of bricks?’
‘If you want to hear what I have to say, that’s a risk you’ll have to take.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Rowan Hall’s life could depend on what you decide to do, if you think meeting with me is beyond you then there’s nothing I can do about that but I had you tagged as an honourable man, someone who wants to do the right thing,’ she paused, ‘but it seems I was wrong.’
Conway started the engine and flicked on the wipers, watching as the water was swept away, revealing the blackness beyond. ‘When you’ve spent time in the army, you learn to be cautious,’ he replied, pulling the tobacco pouch from his jacket pocket.
‘Yes, well, I think the time for caution has passed.’
‘I—’
‘An hour ago, someone dropped a letter through my door, they claim to have Rowan and they say she will die soon unless I can find her.’
Tom hitched in a sharp breath, the tobacco pouch fell into his lap. ‘Who has her?’ he snarled.
He heard the sigh float from the phone. ‘The person who has her is no doubt insane but not mad enough to sign the letter.’ He could hear the hint of exasperation in her voice at the question and felt a vestige of heat in his cheeks.
‘OK, that was a dumb-ass question,’ he admitted.
‘So, you will you meet me?’
Conway clicked on the heater and hesitated for a moment. ‘Yeah.’
‘Right, where are you?’
‘Out on Dumbar Road, in a lay-by near the picnic area.’
‘I know the place, I’m leaving now so should be there in the next twenty minutes.’
‘I trust you’ll be coming alone?’
‘Look, eventually you’ll have to pay for what you did to Hamer and Chelsea Whitlow but all I’m concerned with for now is finding out who has Rowan Hall and getting to her before it’s too late.’
Conway thought of his goddaughter, running to greet him, arms outstretched, all smiles as he lifted her onto his shoulders, the camera clicking, capturing her forever in mid-run. Then the word ‘capture’ pierced his heart. ‘I’ll be here, just don’t keep me waiting,’ he said, ending the call.
Tilting his head, he rolled the cigarette with shaking fingers before sparking up and stepping from the car, the wind swirled the rain into his face and he cupped his hand to keep the roll-up dry as he took a drag.
Truth was, he had been at a loss as to where to go next, Phelps had vanished and he suspected that he hadn’t told anyone where he was going when he took Rowan from the stinking cellar.
He would meet the copper and listen to what she had to say but if it turned out to be a dead end then he would find Rae and make him talk. After all, the man had to be involved in some way. Whitlow’s sister had told him enough for him to be sure that Rae was the lowest of the low, making his money through drugs and prostitution.
Smoking the cigarette, he ignored the weather that battered him as he waited for the copper to show, his mind locked in a dark wo
rld of revenge.
72
Williams waited at the door, protected from the downpour by the porch, he watched as a moth danced close to the light above his head. Eventually the door opened and the woman smiled out at him, as usual the warmth never came close to her piercing eyes.
‘You delivered the letter?’ she asked.
‘I did,’ he replied as he stepped forward.
She didn’t move and Williams came to a halt in front of her. ‘What about Phelps and the girl?’
‘They’re at the house.’
‘I want to see them both,’ the woman said.
‘But—’
‘You can take me,’ she said, closing the door in his face.
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Williams turned away from the door, his expression one of anger and frustration. Under normal circumstances he would have throttled the bitch but she still owed him half the money and the truth was he wasn’t quite sure what she had on him. There was something in her eyes, a warning of sorts and Williams had worked long enough in this murky world to know that it never paid to bite the hand that fed you until you knew what information they had and who they had passed it on to.
Still, a time would come when he had the money in his back pocket and then he would take great pleasure in cutting off her head, after all what was one more killing when your hands had been stained deep red for years?
He heard the click of the door and turned to find the woman popping up an umbrella, her hand encased in leather gloves; she was wearing a full-length wax coat with a shoulder cape and dark-green Hunter wellingtons.
‘It’s only a short walk to the car and there’s a garage at the other end,’ he explained.
She looked at him and frowned. ‘I’m fully aware of that but it always pays to be prepared, Mr Williams, besides this is my cutting coat.’
Williams looked perplexed. ‘Cutting coat?’
‘Mm, the blood washes off so easily,’ she brushed past him into the rain.
Williams watched as she strode away towards the car, her gait confident, her grey hair flying in the wind.
With a sigh, he closed the door and flicked up his collar before following her out into the downpour.
73
Driving down the road, the temptation to flick on the flashing lights and siren ate away at Marnie’s defences but she resisted the temptation as her mind continued to go over the contents of the letter. The person responsible had claimed that they would know if she approached anyone at work for help, she had no idea if that were the case or not, but with Rowan’s life hanging in the balance she couldn’t take that chance.
Sliding the car into fourth gear, the weight of fear pressing down on her, she felt like the letter had transported her back to when she was eleven and Boland had taken her sister. She felt the same sense of helplessness, the same feeling that terrible things were in motion that couldn’t be halted. She checked the mirrors, afraid she would find someone following her to the clandestine meeting, only to report back to the writer of the letter. And then Rowan would die. The streetlights ended and she flicked on the main beam, her right foot automatically pressing down on the gas pedal as the fear grew. Fighting the sense of panic, Marnie slid the window down, wet air howled into the vehicle and she shook her head as if trying to dislodge the feeling of helplessness.
The road snaked left and right as she headed out of town, the lights lancing out into the darkness as her speed increased. She tried to fathom why she was doing this, ultimately, Conway was a killer, a man hell bent on finding those responsible for the death of his friend and the disappearance of his goddaughter. She tried to rationalise her decision to contact Conway but the only thing she could manage was the fact that he hadn’t been mentioned in the letter.
In her mind, she could feel the insidious worm, slinking and slithering, eating the facts and spewing out inconsequential lies. No doubt when Reese found out what she had done he would lose any trust in her and she would more than likely find herself bumped back down to uniform or, worse still, they could fire her on the spot. Her foot eased off the gas as she thought through the implications of what she was doing. The voice of reason tried to get her to see sense and Marnie gritted her teeth against the onslaught, she knew how cruel life could be and how it paid to listen to your gut feelings. The facts were that John Hall had been murdered and his daughter taken, then the letter had dropped through her door claiming to have the girl. As far as Marnie was concerned that was enough to try and keep things hidden from her superiors, at least until she knew more about what had happened to Rowan.
The road started to climb and she dropped a gear, occasionally there would be a break in the hawthorn bushes that grew close to the road and she would catch a glimpse of darkened fields dotted here and there with white, cotton-wool sheep. The rain increased and she upped the speed of the wipers in an effort to cope with the downpour. Reaching the brow of the hill, she saw the turning on the left and eased down it, the road dipped and then started to rise again, then the lights caught the saloon car parked on the left.
Marnie didn’t bother indicating but pulled up behind it. Leaving the lights on she waited, the seconds sliding by, the tension mounting. The driver’s door opened and she drew in a sharp breath as Tom Conway walked towards the passenger door.
Saying a silent prayer, Marnie popped the lock, then he was by her side, his hair and jacket were soaked as if he had spent time standing in the rain waiting for her to turn up.
‘You either came alone or you have backup on the way,’ he mused, twisting in the seat to look to her.
‘No backup.’
Conway studied the woman behind the wheel, she looked to be in her mid- to late twenties, her hair tied back, her eyes held a note of caution but no fear.
‘My name is Marnie by the way.’
Conway hesitated before thrusting out his hand. ‘And you know who I am.’
Marnie looked at the offered hand and then she gave it a shake, her eyes locked on his face.
‘Now, the letter?’ he asked.
Lifting the paper from her pocket she handed it over and waited while Conway read the words.
‘Your sister went missing?’ he asked, glancing up at her.
‘She still is or she’s dead, I have no idea which,’ Marnie replied in a worn-out voice. Conway grunted noncommittally before carrying on reading, she could see the anger in his eyes as he quickly scanned the letter.
‘Bastard,’ he hissed.
Marnie turned and looked through the windscreen, the view, nebulous, shapeless, the rain bounced off the roof of the car sounding loud in the confined space. ‘I have no real idea what I’m doing here,’ she admitted.
Conway eased back into the seat, both looking out into the night, lost in their own thoughts of despair.
‘What do you know about Phelps?’ he eventually asked.
‘To be honest, not much, in fact I would imagine you know more than we do at the moment.’
‘His main client is Jimmy Rae.’
Marnie pulled out her cigarettes and lit one before offering the pack.
‘Prefer a roll-up,’ he said with a ragged smile as Marnie slid the window down slightly.
Conway took out the makings. ‘According to Chelsea Whitlow, Phelps has worked for Rae for over ten years.’
‘So, he’ll know all the scams that Rae has going.’
‘Yeah, but what I want to know is how much Rae knows about Phelps.’
Marnie thought for a moment, the smoke drifted out through the window. ‘Well, we suspect Rae makes some of his money through prostitution, though so far, no one has been willing to come forward and testify. Besides, chances are the girls have no idea who they are really working for, Rae will let the pimps run the business while he takes all the profit.’
Conway looked down at the glowing tip of the cigarette, his eyes burning with fierce intensity. ‘Hamer worked for Rae though he told me he dealt with Whitlow on a day-to-day basis.’
‘Was that before or after you broke his fingers?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Conway looked sideways at her. ‘During,’ he replied, without a flicker of remorse. He faced front again, taking a pull on the cigarette.
Marnie felt a shiver run over her flesh, ‘We were called out to a house earlier, someone rang the station anonymously and told us there was dead body at an address on the outskirts of town.’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
Marnie drummed her fingers on the wheel. ‘The victim had been killed exactly like Whitlow, there was a man at the house – he tried to make a run for it but we’ve got him locked up,’ she explained.
‘Was he the killer?’
Marnie dropped the half-smoked cigarette through the window, watching the smoke trail out into the soggy night air. ‘I don’t think so, I can’t see the killer hanging around and the body had been there for a while.’
‘What’s this got to do with Rowan?’
Marnie pointed at the letter in Conway’s right hand. ‘Whoever took Rowan also knew about the body on the bed and I think that whoever wrote the letter made the call to the station.’
‘But why would they do something like that?’ he asked, his brow creased in confusion.
Marnie turned in her seat and looked at the tall, ex-army man in the passenger seat. ‘If you look at the letter, the person says there are no answers to any of this and that they are in control …’
‘I know but …!’
‘“Always in control”’, Marnie quoted.
‘So?’
‘So, they are either delusional,’ she paused, ‘or they have done something similar before.’
Conway looked back down at the letter, his eyes scanning over the words, only this time he read it as a whole and not just the sections where Rowan’s name leapt out at him.
When he reached the line where the writer had stated that Rowan would die but not before “they” had their fun with her he felt his jaw lock with fury.
Cut The Threads: A Serial Killer Thriller That Will Keep You Hooked (DS Marnie Hammond Book 2) Page 22
