“I’m going home,” said Ellie. “Let Brad go. Let him come after me if he’s going to—it’s the only way we’ll prove he’s innocent or guilty. If he’s really your classic psychopath, he won’t stop, because this madness will drive him. If Jack Goodfellow’s our man—well, he’s tucked up in the hospital under prison guard and won’t be going anywhere for a while, anyway.”
“I think she’s right, sir—after all, why should we force Anderson to kill some innocent woman when he could go after Ellie?” Jane piped up.
Ellie shot her a black look. Reilly stood up from behind his desk, and stretched. “Anderson’s going to be enjoying Her Majesty’s hospitality tonight, Ellie. I’m keeping him here and interviewing him, to see if I can get some sense out of him even if there’s a lawyer present.”
“Then I want to be there when you interview him.”
“And I’ve already told you it’s inappropriate. If he’s guilty, I don’t want it thrown out of court on some inappropriate technicality,” Reilly snapped. “As you say, Goodfellow’s tucked up in hospital. Anderson’s in an interview room. There’s nothing for you to do right now. Go home and get some rest.” And Ellie no longer had a choice but to do as he ordered.
Resort to Murder
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She drove out of Leeds into the eye of a sudden summer storm that swept across the Yorkshire Moors like the invading armies of centuries ago, sweeping away all resistance and leaving the landscape ravished.
Rain pounded at her windshield, blown by an angry wind, forcing her to reduce her speed as she negotiated narrow country roads and village streets. The storm blinded her as she drove over the Moors and the empty darkness seemed to seep into her soul. She struggled to keep her mind on driving while fighting off images of Reilly’s cold dismissal. She needed to feel his warmth and protection again. Like a flower bud in winter, she wondered if she’d ever feel that warmth and light again.
****
Reilly sat at his desk, staring bleakly out at the unnatural darkness that had fallen over the city as the storm roared in. The lights in the city streets, the colorful signs on stores, all seemed to dissolve outside his window as the rain and wind took them.
He thought of Ellie, battling her way home through the awful drenching; and regret pierced him at sending her out into the storm instead of keeping her safely by his side.
He couldn’t shake the dull sense of foreboding—a ‘sight’, his superstitious Irish mother called it. He laughed off talk of intuitions, instead thinking of them as simply the subconscious voice churning out conclusions about facts it had absorbed. He’d had his share of these hunches and they were always right. But how could Ellie be threatened, other than driving through the storm? Not with Goodfellow in the hospital under a watchful police guard and Anderson still in this very police station “helping police with their enquiries.” Not that the man had given them anything helpful. But he would, Reilly vowed that much.
Then why did his hunch tell him he’d sent the woman he loved into danger—a danger far greater than the storm raging outside?
****
It had been quiet now for so long. The waiting man felt safe to venture out of the garden shed and into the night. The wild noises of the storm had kept the secret of his presence. Darkness was complete. Even the moon had hidden its face, and he felt secure enough to complete the rest of his arrangements. He knew she would be back soon.
****
“You’re not going to like this, sir. Seems we’ve misplaced Jack Goodfellow.” Jane put down the telephone, her eyes fixed on Reilly’s face.
“How the hell could we mislay him?” He grunted, fighting the hot sensation in his chest.
“Seems the uniform keeping an eye on him took advantage of a nurse doing vital signs to answer the call of nature. Came back ten minutes later, the room was dark, assumed Goodfellow was off in the land of Nod. A couple of hours later, another nurse came along and started yelling that Goodfellow was gone.”
Reilly swore savagely. He was sure Goodfellow wasn’t a murderer—but what if he was wrong? He stabbed Ellie’s number on the telephone pad, and got the busy signal.
“Should we get the local station to check on her?” Jane asked, a worried frown creasing the skin between her eyes.
“Let me try her number one more time.” But the line was still busy. Reilly cursed. Who the hell was Ellie chatting to, at this time of night and in these circumstances? At least he knew it wasn’t a cozy lovers’ chat with Anderson. Reilly had the man simmering in an interview room, softening him up for another round of questioning.
The phone on Jane’s desk shrilled. “He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed wants to see you in his office—now,” she said.
What now? What could Harris possibly want in the middle of the case coming together? Reilly muttered another curse, tightened his tie and slipped into his jacket.
He found out soon enough. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not finished with Anderson yet. The man is refusing to answer even simple questions, but there’s enough evidence against him to hold him until morning, when I’m hoping the lab will have something on the bloodstained clothes.”
“That’s not good enough, Reilly. The man’s a celebrity and he’s already screaming harassment. How’s it going to look to the public if we’re seen to be harassing the author of the Slasher book? It’s got grudge written all over it!” Harris said firmly.
“How’s it going to look to the public if we let him go, and another woman dies?” Reilly shot back.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, son, but you know damn well that even if we can prove the clothes are his and the blood is the Collins’ woman’s, that’s still not enough to stand up in court! You can’t just keep him here!”
“You want me to release him?” Reilly glared.
“I have already. Anderson left here some time ago.”
Reilly stared at the older man in shock. Then he whirled around and left the room without another word.
****
She knew she’d made a mistake the moment she walked in out of the noise of storm and smelled the delicate aroma of food warming in the oven. Her stomach reeled as she took in the exquisite table setting, the single perfect red rose, the stereo softly playing Liszt’s “Dream of Love.”
Slowly she walked around the cottage, a sense of unreality shadowing her every step. Her home was empty. Her fingers trailed over the smooth bed sheets and her heart thumped as vivid shards of remembered passion flickered through her. Reilly was in her blood, a constant fever.
But her living room was like an out-of-focus photograph. The romantic setting and music bore testimony to someone’s recent presence. Her first guess would have been Brad, but he was sitting at the police station. Jack Goodfellow was in hospital. And Reilly? Well, even if he’d had the time, this kind of gesture wasn’t in his repertoire at all. Too pretentious.
She picked up the telephone and dead air mocked her.
Was it the storm, or human intervention? Her cell phone was in her bag—still out in the car where she’d left it, too weary to drag it and all the files it contained into the house in the heavy rain. Warding off panic by action, she started for the door, intending to make a break for her car and safety. But the front door was already opening, slowly, slowly—and Ellie watched mesmerized, backing away.
“You!” she gasped, shock freezing her.
“Ellie, Ellie, Don’t be afraid - I’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered hoarsely, pushing the door shut behind him.
****
Reilly raced through the dark night, accelerator pressed to the floor, heedless of roads made treacherous by torrential rain. He knew with soul searing certainty that Ellie was in terrible danger. And that it was his fault. Six months ago he’d believed she’d be safe when he went off to play the hero. Instead, her world had been torn apart, and he’d not been there. Now she faced a killer whose obsession with her had no logical consummation but her death, and Re
illy had sent her out there. Alone. Without even telling her how much he loved her. Without even a kind word. He’d ordered her to go home, confident that Jack Goodfellow was in the hospital and Brad Anderson was safely under lock and key at the police station. He’d been wrong on both counts, and Ellie had been left to pay the price for his mistake.
After the interview with Harris, Reilly had been barely able to see for the fury that consumed him. Ellie Fitzpatrick, courageous Ellie, who had suffered such injustice before, was now in danger because the powers-that-be didn’t want to be pilloried in the Press for harassing a celebrity. Reilly clenched his fists on the wheel. He wanted to do some harassing of his own - but that would come later when Ellie was safe.
****
“What are you doing here, Jack?” Ellie asked. The man before her staggered, lost his balance and collapsed to the floor. Was he drunk? Taking her courage in both hands, she knelt beside him and struggled to turn him over. Her hands slid over warm wetness and she snatched them away. She stared, uncomprehending, at the blood on her hands. A groan from Jack galvanized her into action. Ripping open the man’s sodden wet dark flannel shirt, she pushed up his t-shirt to reveal a ragged wound that flowed over his ribs and into the soft tissue of his abdomen. The wound was bleeding heavily, too heavily, and she had no way of knowing if vital organs were damaged. But she could see that Jack was losing too much blood, so Ellie closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember her first aid training. She grabbed a thick soft towel from the linen closet and a cushion from the settee. The cushion she pushed under Jack’s shoulders, letting his head fall backward. Keep the airways open and the heart above the head. She placed the folded towel on the wound, pressing Jack’s hand over it.
“Try to keep the pressure on there, Jack,” she urged the semi-conscious man. As she raced through these actions her brain demanded answers she didn’t have. How had Jack got out of hospital? Assuming that Jack wasn’t crazy enough to stab himself, who had attacked him, and why?
She wasn’t left guessing for long. As she reached for the door handle to go and get her cell phone, the door swung slowly open. Ellie stared, frozen, in deja-vu. But this time it was Brad who stood there, that familiar boyish smile playing gently on his lips. The lamplight glittered on the wicked blade of the scalpel he held casually in his slender fingers.
“Brad,” the name felt unfamiliar on her lips. This was a man she did not know.
****
Reilly skidded his car to a halt beside the police car parked near the entrance to the lane leading to Ellie’s cottage. The officer who’d been dispatched from the local station to keep watch saluted.
“No sign of anyone coming or going, sir. Inspector Fitzpatrick’s car is there, but my orders were not to get too close. I haven’t seen anyone else.”
Reilly thanked the officer and gritted his teeth in frustration at not knowing who he was dealing with. His best bet was Anderson, but why had Goodfellow ducked out of the hospital, and where was he? Maybe Ellie was safe, warm and alone in her cottage, but he didn’t think so.
“There’s a Special Task Force team behind me. They should be here any minute,” Reilly rasped, knowing his team would swoop over the curving moors roads at high speeds as he had done. “Update them and tell them to follow procedure. I may have to go in alone. Meanwhile, keep a watch out and question anyone coming or going from the Fitzpatrick house. Are you alone?”
“Yes, sir—short-staffed with the flu.”
“Okay, well, keep watch, but don’t try to detain. Use your judgment …the man we’re looking for is dangerous. Don’t try to be a hero when you’ve no backup.”
The constable nodded, looking crestfallen at being left out of the action, but he obediently resumed his post at his car. Reilly loped off in the direction of Ellie’s cottage, and as he ran the focused discipline of his training took over and subdued the panic that wanted to spill over in his heart as he thought of the danger Ellie faced.
****
“What are you doing here, Brad?” Ellie was surprised at the strength of her voice when her insides were trembling so violently.
“What kind of question is that to ask your fiancé?” Brad said, that smile still playing about his lips.
“You’re not my fiancé!” Ellie snapped. She clung to the anger that burned within her at the gargantuan deception played on her by this man. Anger at herself nibbled, too, at the edges of her consciousness—shouldn’t she have known? Ah, but you did, her mind and heart replied in unison. Why do you think you couldn’t love him? Why do you think you could never commit? Ellie pulled her anger tightly about her. Without it she would be lost.
“Ah, you’re just upset. That Reilly has been filling your head with lies.” Brad stepped over Jack’s prone body as if it didn’t exist.
“Jack’s hurt—we need to get help!”
“He got what he deserved. Weak little man. Interfering—he thought if he could save you, it would make up for abandoning that little fiancée of his to the Slasher. Thought maybe he could live with himself.”
“You’re insane!” she flared back.
“You think I’m crazy? Sometimes I’ve thought it myself.” Brad grinned, and fear blossomed in Ellie’s chest. “I thought all the books said you were supposed to sweet talk the psychopath when he has you trapped in your own home with evil intent?”
“Screw you, Brad—I gave up doing things by the book when I got thrown off the force!” And with that she leaned into him, catching him off guard as she brought her knee up hard. She was aiming for his groin. Rage and fear made her strong, but he stepped back at the last moment and instead she caught him a glancing blow on the thigh. It knocked him off balance and he grunted with pain, but it wasn’t enough to stop him, and he grabbed her with an iron grasp.
“Just what do you want from me?” Ellie managed to ask, hating the whimper in her voice but unable to stop it. She was shivering now. She had outfaced Alfie Morris; she wasn’t going to let a poor mad creep like Brad Anderson break her. But in the depths of her soul she doubted her own vow.
****
The storm abating was a double-edged blessing for Reilly as he raced stealthily down the lane. While he could see and hear more clearly without the raging fury of wind and rain, the calm also made him more visible, more audible, to whomever else was out and about in the night.
Ellie’s cottage loomed out of the darkness, lights beckoning softly through the curtained windows. Crouched low, the police-issue handgun already in his hand, he slowly circled the cottage. He stifled a curse as he hit his head on a piece of guttering loosened in the storm, forcing himself to stand silently still for a long moment, wondering if the clattering sound had been heard inside the cottage. When nothing happened, he continued around the building to stop, frozen in his tracks, as he saw Ellie through the patio doors. She was staring defiantly at another presence out of his visual range, but there was no mistaking the fear and horror in her expression. Reilly’s grip tightened on the gun. Hold on, sweetheart—I’m coming for you. He sent the silent message to Ellie, wanting nothing more than to throw himself between the woman he loved and whatever was threatening her. But the patio doors would take too long to kick open—Ellie could be dead before they gave way.
****
“Why are you doing this, Brad? You say you love me then you come here like this?” Ellie stood in the mundane familiarity of her kitchen facing down a madman.
“I do. I love you with all my heart, Ellie. I’ll never forget the first time I saw you. I knew then that you were the one. I’d gone into the courthouse for the Abbott trial a man who was bored and jaded. I came out a man who was inspired—by a woman who stood her ground when the defending barristers attacked, who raised her chin at the world and stood for justice! You were so strong, so sure that what you were doing was right.
“You excited me, Ellie. Your pride and your courage. Other women bored me. They clung or they were too interested in my bank account and not interested enough in me.
But you, you were special—we were so good together!”
“In your dreams, Brad! You were fabricating a dream world.”
“At least you’re not going to try to save your life by fawning all over me!” Brad said, that boyish smile flickering about his lips, “Although it might be nice to find out just what you have to offer - before I kill you.”
Ellie swallowed hard on the fear snaking up from her guts. No, she wasn’t going to fawn. If this were her last hour on earth, at least she’d die knowing she’d fought, that she’d died with her head high and her pride intact.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Reilly’s face rose up on her closed eyelids, and for a moment she could feel him as clearly as if he was in the room, giving her his courage, telling her to hold on.
“I watched as they disgraced you, Ellie. I knew you were innocent; your integrity wouldn’t be corrupted by the filth on the streets. I bought the house next to your family holiday home; somehow I knew you’d bolt here to lick your wounds. Have you any idea what a thrill that was for me, knowing you—someone so connected to Abbott—was living right alongside me?
“I pulled you from the depths of depression, Ellie. I rescued your soul, I saved you. I thought you’d turn to me, but you ran back to Reilly like a slut!”
Ellie shivered, but stayed silent. Only now did she realize the full extent of Brad’s sickness.
“At the trial, I sat behind the prosecutor and read the evidence over his shoulder. Once, when court was on break, the officer keeping an eye on things was called out to the telephone—and I had a few minutes to look at the file and see the crime-scene photos! I was fascinated by what Abbott did, just as I’ve been fascinated by the other serial killers I’ve studied. When I talked to Abbott, though, it was more—he conveyed the excitement, the power. Something I’ve never had with a woman, Ellie. Excitement. Power. You excited me. Your personal power was an aphrodisiac. I couldn’t even perform with another woman, not without imagining it was you beneath me. That’s how far you got under my skin. I knew it would be right with you—but you were slipping away. I wanted to experience what Abbott had experienced and if a demented nobody like him could experience such heights, then surely I was entitled?”
Resort to Murder Page 20
