The Christmas Killer

by Alex Pine

  ‘It would have to be someone with a twisted fucking mind and a serious grudge against you,’ Tanner had said.

  There was one person who fit that description, of course.

  Andrew Sullivan.

  Annie arrived home just as the patrol officer was placing the bin bag containing the parcel in the boot of his marked BMW.

  James watched her approach and cursed under his breath because he wished he didn’t have to tell her what was going on. But he had no choice for two reasons. Firstly, he wasn’t prepared to tell an outright lie when she asked him. And secondly, he needed to know if she had any idea who might have done it.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Annie asked when she reached him, her breath steaming in the cold evening air.

  James flicked his head towards the house.

  ‘Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you, hon,’ he said. ‘It’s freezing out here.’ He gave the officer the thumbs-up before he and Annie hurried along the short garden path and into the house. He had already cleaned up the kitchen so that she wouldn’t be confronted by the bloody mess on the floor.

  He helped her off with her coat and scarf and went to make her a hot chocolate while she removed her shoes.

  Then he told her what had happened while they sat facing each other across the kitchen table. He showed her the photos on his phone of the dead partridge and the message on the card. The colour drained from her face as she took it all in. When she looked up her eyes were dull with shock.

  ‘Please tell me that you don’t think this is anything other than a vile prank,’ she said.

  He dragged in a loud breath and shook his head.

  ‘I can’t imagine it being anything other than that. But we have to be sure. I’m hoping that whoever did it left a fingerprint or something for the lab technicians to find.’

  Annie stared at him, furrows texturing her brow.

  ‘My God,’ she said. ‘What if some crazed serial killer has decided to target the people of Kirkby Abbey? And us.’

  ‘Please don’t freak out, Annie,’ James said as he reached across the table to place his hand on hers.

  But she drew it back sharply and snapped at him. ‘I’m not freaking out, and I’m not stupid either. You’ve more or less admitted that it might not be a tasteless joke. Therefore, shouldn’t you raise the alarm and warn everyone that they could be in danger? And at the same time flood the village with police officers?’

  James fully appreciated where she was coming from, but he knew that the contents of the parcel wouldn’t be enough in themselves to trigger a full-blown investigation. It wasn’t uncommon for death threats to be sent via letter, parcel and email.

  ‘For all we know that’s exactly what the sender wants to happen,’ he said. ‘If it is just a stupid joke then the more people who get worked up about it the more successful it’ll be deemed to be. And we also need to bear in mind that if it’s not a hoax then there’s no way of knowing if the victims referred to live in this village.’

  James could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t convinced, but she decided not to pursue the subject. Instead, she remained silent, holding his gaze while gnawing at the edge of her bottom lip.

  ‘We’ll soon get to the bottom of it,’ he said, and tried to sound reassuring. ‘I promise you that.’

  Her expression changed suddenly, as though a thought had crashed into her head.

  ‘Jesus Christ, James,’ she yelled. ‘What if it’s from him? What if the bastard has found us?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Annie’s reaction came as no surprise to James. Only three months had passed since the day Andrew Sullivan was released from prison and the brick was thrown through their living room window.

  The move to Cumbria had made his wife feel safer, but the threat Sullivan posed still hung over their heads like a dark cloud.

  James’s transfer to Kendal had been processed quickly and efficiently by the Met, and only a handful of senior officers had been made privy to why he’d requested it, to reduce the possibility that Sullivan would find out where he’d gone and pursue him.

  James had hoped and prayed that the man would get on with his life and forget about seeking revenge for the time he’d spent behind bars. But if he was still determined to punish James, then he could probably use his crooked contacts in the Met to find out about their new home in Kirkby Abbey.

  ‘Don’t tell me it hasn’t already occurred to you that this could be down to Sullivan,’ Annie said. ‘It’s an easy way to wreck our Christmas and put the fear of God into us.’

  ‘Of course, it’s occurred to me,’ James said. ‘But there’s a risk of jumping to the wrong conclusion because of what’s happened in the past. I find it hard to believe that Sullivan would bother to put together something so weirdly elaborate when he doesn’t need to. It’s just not his MO, unlike the note that was attached to the brick and the threats he made to me before we collared him. It doesn’t ring true that he would talk about the twelve days of Christmas and tell me he’s about to embark on a killing spree just to seize my attention. And then there’s the partridge, which strikes me as the kind of theatrical gesture that wouldn’t occur to an oaf like Sullivan.’

  Annie pushed her chair back and abruptly stood.

  ‘I need something stronger than hot chocolate,’ she said.

  James watched her cross to the fridge and take out a bottle of white wine. Then it was to the cupboard for the glasses.

  It gutted him to think that she had been hurled back onto the emotional rollercoaster. She’d had such a tough time over the past few years, starting with her inability to conceive, building with the threats from Sullivan and culminating with the brick through their window.

  Since leaving London she’d been more like her old self – bubbly, confident and full of life. Physically, it was as though she’d had a makeover. She was still as gorgeous as she had always been, with those bright blue eyes, soft facial features and thick black hair that tumbled to her shoulders. But there was a glow about her now, and she appeared fitter and healthier after putting on the weight she’d lost through months of worrying. She was still slim and shapely, though, and she looked terrific in the tight brown sweater and denim jeans that clung to her frame.

  The last thing James wanted was for her to be struck by another bout of despair in the run up to Christmas.

  ‘Let’s assume for now that it’s got nothing to do with Sullivan,’ James said. ‘Can you think of anyone living here in the village who might be of a mind to dream up something as crazy as this? Perhaps someone who isn’t happy about us moving here?’

  Annie placed the wine and the glasses on the table and sat down.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘We’ve been given a warm welcome. And as far as I know we haven’t made any enemies.’

  James sat back in the chair and grappled with a new batch of questions that were spinning around in his head.

  What would be the next step if no forensic evidence turned up on the parcel and its contents? Would DCI Tanner expect him to pursue it by making discreet enquiries in the village? And if so, who would he approach and what would he ask them?

  It was a tricky one, for sure, and he could feel his insides clenching at the thought of how it was going to play out over the days ahead.

  Annie poured the wine and pushed James’s glass across the table towards him. He thanked her, then asked what time she’d left the house earlier to go to the nativity play.

  ‘It was around half four,’ she answered. ‘I popped home to grab a bite to eat and change. It was dark by then so I left the lights on for you.’

  ‘I got here just after six so the parcel was placed on the doorstep between those times,’ James said. ‘The street outside was empty when I arrived, but I suppose somebody could have been watching from the shadows.’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing anyone outside either,’ Annie said.

  ‘What about when you walked to the school? Did you pass any other peo
ple or cars heading this way?’

  Annie scrunched up her brow and cast her mind back. It took her mere seconds to shake her head.

  ‘I only saw one other person,’ she said. ‘It was Keith Patel, who I’ve seen around the village from time to time. We passed each other on the pavement this side of the square. I said hello to him but he either didn’t hear me or chose not to respond.’

  ‘Didn’t you think that was odd? Or at least rude?’

  ‘Not really. The man has a reputation for being anti-social. Apparently, he’s been like that since his ageing mother died a year ago. Janet told me that the woman fell down her stairs but her body wasn’t discovered for a week because nobody called at the house. Patel is now living there but keeps to himself because he believes that she might have been saved if her friends and neighbours in the village had bothered to drop in on her.’

  James leaned forward across the table. ‘Can you remember if the guy was carrying a box or a bag?’

  ‘He wasn’t carrying anything,’ Annie said. ‘I can remember that clearly. But he was pulling a shopping trolley – the kind used by elderly people. He’s not exactly old, though, probably in his fifties. I also noticed he was limping.’

  ‘So while you were walking away from our house, he was walking towards it? Is that right?’

  Annie nodded. ‘But then, he does live down the hill opposite the stables. I’m guessing he was just going home.’

  James mulled this over for a few moments, and said, ‘As a matter of interest, do you happen to know when exactly his mum died?’

  Annie shrugged. ‘According to Janet, people think it was last Christmas Eve. But they can’t be absolutely sure because her body wasn’t found until New Year’s Day.’

  James felt a sudden twist in his gut as he wondered if Keith Patel should become their first suspect.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  James spent the rest of the evening in work mode. He found it impossible to concentrate on anything other than the parcel.

  He asked Annie lots of questions about the people she knew in Kirkby Abbey, and was particularly interested in the ones she’d had contact with since moving here.

  Some of those she mentioned James had already been introduced to, including Lorna Manning, the school headmistress.

  ‘I’m confident that none of them would do such a thing,’ Annie said. ‘Lorna is my friend as well as my boss. You said yourself how nice she is. The same goes for Father Silver, who has a lot on his plate at the moment, what with his illness and the impending closure of his church. They both have their ears to the ground, so I’m sure they would have told me if someone in the village had it in for us.’

  Among the other villagers James had met were Charlie and Sonia Jenkins, landlords of The White Hart pub, and Giles Keegan, a former member of the Cumbria Constabulary who used to work in the same office where James was now based.

  ‘They’ve all been really welcoming,’ Annie said. ‘But you ought to ask Giles what he thinks. I’m sure that not much happens in Kirkby Abbey that he isn’t aware of.’

  Among those James hadn’t met was Keith Patel and it was Patel’s name that James scrawled in his notebook, along with the fact that Annie had seen him walking towards their house pulling a shopping trolley shortly before the parcel was left on their doorstep. Was it just a coincidence? Probably. But that did not mean it wasn’t a credible line of inquiry, along with Andrew Sullivan’s possible involvement.

  Obviously, Annie knew only a very small number of the seven hundred or so people who resided in Kirkby Abbey, and many of those she’d known when she’d lived here with her parents had since left the village. The shrinking population was the main reason that things had changed and were continuing to change. The only church was due to close for good early in the new year because of a dramatic fall in the number of worshippers, and it was thought unlikely that the campaign to save the primary school would succeed.

  These were issues that James had raised with Annie in recent months – though they hadn’t dampened her enthusiasm for the move – and he had got her to agree not to sell the house in Tottenham or rent it out for at least six months, until they had a better idea of what would happen in Kirkby Abbey. They also needed the time to find out if life in rural England would suit them both.

  As well as talking to Annie about the villagers, James sent an email to one of his colleagues in the Met asking for a status report on Andrew Sullivan. He wanted to know where he was and what he’d been up to.

  He then went online and pulled up photos of partridges. It didn’t take him long to establish that the poor thing in the box was a grey partridge that was pretty common in Cumbria. It was easily recognisable from its orange face and the dark horseshoe-shaped patch on its chest.

  Of course, partridges were immortalized in the carol The Twelve Days of Christmas, but James reminded himself of the fact that the real ‘twelve days of Christmas’ is a period in Christian theology that marks the span between the birth of Christ and the coming of the three wise men. It begins on Christmas Day and runs to January 6th.

  So why had the person or persons who delivered the parcel alluded to it in the message? Was it part of a prank aimed at seizing his attention in the most dramatic fashion? Or was it a genuine warning that a killing spree would take place in Kirkby Abbey over the Christmas period?

  Both James and Annie had a restless night, unable to sleep properly with so much on their minds. It didn’t help that a blustery wind caused the bedroom window to rattle noisily for much of the time.

  James awoke at seven on Saturday morning and saw that a layer of snow had settled over the village. Chimneys sprouted through marshmallow rooftops and the street out front was devoid of tyre tracks and footprints. Their two cars, and those belonging to the neighbours, were little more than strange white shapes that looked bulky and out of place in the tranquil setting.

  When he switched on the TV in the kitchen, the weather forecaster was saying that there was much worse to come. She used words such as blizzards and disruption to describe what to expect.

  ‘My advice is to be prepared and don’t get caught out,’ she said.

  James had been looking forward to spending the first day of the weekend relaxing with Annie. The plan had been to see what was on offer at the farmers’ market in the village square and then to have a leisurely lunch at The White Hart.

  But the parcel had created an unwanted distraction and was bound to occupy their thoughts throughout the day.

  He made Annie a cup of tea and took it to her in the bedroom. She asked him what he was going to do about the parcel and he told her that he wasn’t sure.

  ‘I’ll give it another hour or so and call the lab,’ he said. ‘They promised to prioritise the tests. Then I’ll check with the boss to see what he thinks the next step should be.’

  The hour passed quickly enough. By eight thirty, they were both showered and dressed and having a cereal breakfast at the kitchen table. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall, but it seemed like the wind had dropped.

  In the end, James didn’t have to put in a call to the lab because one of the technicians phoned him. But the news was disappointing. The only prints found on the box, the wrapping paper, clingfilm and card belonged to him. And the initial examination indicated that there was no DNA trace evidence on any of the objects.

  ‘As for the partridge, I can confirm that it was a hen,’ the technician said. ‘And it had been stabbed it the stomach. We estimate that it was killed at some point in the past twenty-four to thirty-six hours.’

  After hanging up with the lab, James phoned DCI Tanner at home to tell him the results.

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ Tanner said. ‘Whoever did it would have made sure to cover their tracks.’

  James told him how Annie had spotted one of the villagers heading towards their house around the time the parcel was dumped on the doorstep.

  ‘It’s a tenuous link at best,’ Tanner said. ‘I’m sure ther
e would have been other people she didn’t see. But I suppose it’s worth having a chat with him. And you could try to find out if the type of wrapping paper and card that was used can be purchased locally.’

  ‘Leave it with me, guv,’ James said. ‘Meanwhile, I’m not ruling out Andrew Sullivan. I’ve asked a former colleague in the Met to check what he’s up to for me.’

  Tanner was one of the few officers in the Cumbria Constabulary who knew about the brick incident and the threats James had received from Sullivan in the past.

  ‘At this stage let’s keep everything low key,’ the DCI said. ‘My money is on it being a reckless hoax and if I’m right I don’t want us to assign people to it who would be more usefully deployed elsewhere. Severe weather is now being predicted for the week ahead and that could mean massive pressure on our resources.’

  James came off the phone and told Annie what Tanner had said. She was about to respond when her own phone rang. Annie answered it and smiled when she heard the caller’s voice. But it was quickly replaced by a frown. She mumbled a couple of times to whoever was on the line, then looked across the table at James.

  ‘He’s with me now,’ she said into the phone. ‘Of course. Bear with me and I’ll put him on.’

  As Annie handed her phone to her husband, she said, ‘It’s Father Silver at St John’s. He’s called me because I gave him my number a few weeks ago. But it’s you he wants to speak to. He says he thinks it’s a police matter.’

  James took the phone from Annie. He didn’t know the priest as well as she did, but he’d met him several times.

  ‘Hi there, Father,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m really sorry to bother you at the weekend, Detective Walker,’ the priest said. ‘But I’m concerned about an odd message I’ve received from someone who hasn’t provided a name but suggests I talk to you.’

  ‘Really? What kind of message?’

  ‘Well, it’s written inside a card depicting The Twelve Days of Christmas.’

  James felt a shudder ripple through him.