by Alex Pine
James had spoken to his brother Ed last night and explained the situation. Ed had said that James and Annie should come to London, but James had explained that it wasn’t possible because of the investigation and the fact that Annie’s uncle had arrived early.
After pouring himself a cup of coffee he set about making a list of the things he had to do, including seeking out and interviewing Daniel Curtis, talking again to Sonia Jenkins and checking in with the forensic lab. He would also put in a call to his pal in the Met to see if he had an update on Andrew Sullivan’s whereabouts.
But first there was the conference at HQ where he was hoping to get an idea of how many people and resources would be assigned to the case. His plan was to set out at seven-thirty, which would allow him plenty of time to get there.
Annie came down after her shower and offered to make them both some breakfast.
‘Just toast for me, thanks,’ James said. ‘I don’t have much of an appetite.’
‘Mind if I turn the telly on?’ she asked.
‘Not at all. I was about to do that myself.’
It was a small TV that they’d recently had installed on the wall behind the breakfast bar.
As soon as it was on, Annie switched to Sky News and within minutes there was coverage of Charlie’s murder. But not much was new apart from an interview with a member of the media-liaison team who said there would be a press conference later in the morning.
James knew he’d be expected to attend as the senior investigating officer and it wasn’t something he was looking forward to.
A lot was also made of the weather forecast. The Met Office had issued what it described as a more accurate prediction of the storm that was approaching the country from the east. It was apparently going to bring heavy snowfall and potentially major disruption to large parts of the North of England and Scotland.
‘We expect this storm to bring severe blizzards and drifting snow,’ the forecaster said. ‘There’s a strong possibility it will cause road closures, power cuts and some damage to buildings.’
It wasn’t what James wanted to hear as he knew it would tie up police resources and slow things down.
‘We can only hope that we solve the case before everything grinds to a standstill,’ he said to Annie as she gave him his toast and topped up his coffee.
But that hope was dashed within minutes when he received a call on his mobile from DCI Tanner.
‘I’ve cancelled this morning’s briefing and press conference and you need to stay where you are,’ he told James. ‘A few minutes ago someone in Kirkby Abbey made a three nines call and I want you to respond right away.’
‘What’s happened, sir?’
‘According to the caller another body has just turned up in the village, and it sounds very much like we’ve got a second murder on our hands.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was the postman who made the 999 call. He was delivering mail to a property in Willow Road when he discovered the body.
He told the emergency call handler that he was convinced it was a case of murder because of the amount of blood. He was also able to provide the name of the victim.
James had shared the information with Annie before leaving the house and it had shaken her to the core. He would have stayed with her if he’d had a choice, but he had to get to the scene as quickly as possible.
‘Oh, please don’t let it be her,’ Annie had said. ‘Call or text me when you know for sure that the postman hasn’t made a mistake.’
As James walked at a hurried pace through the village, his heart was hammering in his chest.
He was hoping to God that the postman had indeed made a mistake, but not just about the identity of the deceased. With any luck, he had also jumped to the wrong conclusion about it being a murder. After all, copious amounts of blood were not uncommon in certain accidental deaths and suicides. If a second premeditated killing had taken place the spotlight would fall on the warning in the Twelve Days of Christmas card.
Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.
It took James only eight minutes to reach his destination. Falling temperatures had turned the rain to sleet, but the slush on the pavements made him wish he had worn boots instead of shoes. His socks and trouser bottoms were soaked, and his feet felt like blocks of ice.
Willow Road had detached properties on one side and open fields on the other. James saw the post office van parked outside a house halfway along. The postman, wearing a high-vis jacket, was standing next to it smoking a cigarette.
James was both surprised and relieved to see that the guy was alone. He’d expected at least a few nosey neighbours to have gathered by now.
The postman was in his forties with a beard and a pasty white face. James flashed his card and explained that he was responding to the 999 call because he happened to live only a couple of streets away.
The postman gave his name as Paul Mason and pointed to the house.
‘As you can see the front door is open,’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘It was half-open when I arrived to deliver a letter. It struck me as odd because it was so cold and wet and there was nobody outside. So I called out but got no response. I’ve met the woman who lives here a few times so I took the liberty of pushing the door all the way open and calling out her name. But that was when I saw the body. You see, the hallway is short and leads up to the kitchen. That door was open too and she was lying on the floor.’
‘So what did you do?’ James asked him.
‘I ran straight in thinking she had fainted or something. But then I saw the blood and what had been done to her throat. I came straight out again and threw up my guts in the road before phoning 999.’
‘Did you touch her or anything else in the room?’
‘No way. I saw she was dead and couldn’t get out of there quick enough.’
‘And is there anyone else in the house?’
‘I didn’t see anyone, but I can’t be sure. I do know the lady lives alone, though. She’s not married.’
‘Do any of the neighbours know what’s going on?’
‘I don’t think so. Nobody has come out, but then it’s not unusual for my van to be parked here.’
James looked at his watch. Seven-fifteen.
‘More officers will be here soon,’ he said. ‘Just stay put while I go inside. And make sure no one goes through the gate.’
The postman gave a sharp nod. ‘Gotcha.’
James felt the tension in his limbs as he walked up to the house. He’d brought with him latex gloves and paper shoe covers, which he slipped on before stepping over the threshold.
Inside it was just as the postman had described and there was enough light to see the body on the floor. But before moving towards it, James asked out loud if there was anyone in the house. There was no response so he proceeded along the hallway.
The woman was lying on her back and wearing only a dressing gown that hung open to reveal her left breast and panties.
And the blood that covered much of her flesh.
It was strikingly obvious from the gashes in her throat and abdomen that she had been murdered. The blood had pooled beneath her and spread across the lino floor. There were also splash marks on several of the kitchen units and the front of the dishwasher.
James dragged his eyes away from the body and the blood and looked around the room. Nothing appeared to be out of place until he noticed that a glass panel in the back door was broken. It was the one closest to the key that was sticking out of the lock.
James wondered if the killer had gained access to the house by smashing the glass and reaching a hand in to turn the key. He would look closer in a bit but, for now, he returned his attention to the victim and focused on her face. He’d met her a couple of times but needed to be sure who she was before he let Annie know whether or not the postman had made a mistake.
He hadn’t.
The woman lying on the floor was Lorna Mann
ing, the headmistress of the village primary school.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Within an hour of James arriving at Lorna Manning’s house the scene in and around it had been transformed. Forensic officers were starting to sweep the rooms and gardens for evidence, and a small crowd had gathered in Willow Road.
While waiting for the team to arrive, James had carried out his own checks. He’d searched the house and confirmed that there was no one else in it, noting that it hadn’t been ransacked.
The place was comfortable and well kept, with smart, modern furniture and a few framed photos of a couple with a small child. An artificial Christmas tree was set up in the living room and there were some unobtrusive decorations.
James had also noted that Lorna’s bed had been slept in and the light was on. It led him to believe that she had probably been woken up by the sound of an intruder breaking the door panel in the kitchen. She’d then gone downstairs to investigate and was stabbed to death.
James called Annie at the first opportunity, and not just to tell her what she didn’t want to hear. He needed to extract some information from her about the woman who had been her boss.
His wife could barely speak, though, and he had to wait for her to get a handle on her emotions.
‘Lorna was a lovely woman,’ she said. ‘I can’t think why anyone would want to do this to her.’
Between sobs she told him that Lorna Manning had been single and aged fifty-eight. She had one son from a marriage that ended in divorce fifteen years ago. He was living in Southend, Essex, with his wife and daughter.
‘She moved around quite a bit and came here ten years ago when she was offered the head’s job at the school,’ Annie said. ‘She put her heart and soul into it and everyone liked and respected her. But the truth is she never seemed happy or settled. I put it down to the fact that the school has been threatened with closure, but others believe it went deeper than that and was rooted in something that happened to her in the past. But she rarely talked about her personal life, even on social occasions. As I understand it, she hadn’t been in a relationship for years. Her whole focus was always on the school and the kids.’
‘We’ll be visiting the school,’ James said. ‘And we’ll have to search Lorna’s office and interview some of the staff.’
‘Will that include me?’
‘It’ll have to.’
Annie shook her head. ‘I’m just finding it so hard to believe what’s happened.’
‘I just wish I could be there with you, hon. But I can’t.’
‘I know, but look, this must mean that the threat in the Christmas card you got wasn’t a hoax,’ she said. ‘There’s a fucking serial killer in this village, so surely it’s time people were told.’
She lost it then and began to cry.
‘Look, I’ll call you later,’ James said, and was gutted that he couldn’t go straight home to comfort her.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she replied. ‘Just do what you can to find the creature who did this.’
James kept thinking about what Annie had said as he kick-started this new murder investigation.
A serial killer stalking the streets of Kirkby Abbey was no longer such a far-fetched notion. Two people had been slain within twenty-four hours of one another. They’d both been stabbed and no effort had been made to conceal the bodies. In fact, the opposite was true – the killer had clearly wanted them to be easily found.
Charlie Jenkins was left in a field where the killer would have known that someone would soon come across his body. And the front door to Lorna’s house was left open, presumably so that her body would not remain undiscovered for long.
James spelled this out to DS Stevens and two other detectives from Kendal HQ when he briefed them outside the house.
‘We need to find out if the pair were connected in any way,’ he said. ‘Apart from living in the same village is it possible they were in a relationship or had a shared interest? Hopefully the neighbours and her colleagues at the school will help provide some answers.’
He told them what Annie had said about Lorna and explained that she had been due at the school this morning for an end of term tidy up.
‘I’d like one of you to contact her son as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘Break the news and see what he can tell us about his mum and whether she had any enemies.’
They were still deep in conversation when Gordon Carver turned up. The Cumbria Gazette reporter made his presence known by calling out to James from beyond the crime scene tape that had been set up.
‘I’d better have a word with him,’ James said. He told the detectives to organise a house-to-house in Willow Road and arrange for officers to visit the school. He then signalled for the uniforms keeping the growing crowd at bay to let Carver through.
The reporter’s first question to James was, ‘Is it true that Lorna Manning has been murdered?’
‘I’m not at liberty to—’
‘Don’t bother feeding me that line, Inspector,’ Carver said. ‘I’ve already spoken to the postman who found the body. So I know she’s the victim and I know about the blood. I’ve already filed a story.’
James sighed. ‘In that case, you might as well know that I believe she was murdered by an intruder. When you update your story I’d like you to include an appeal for witnesses. It happened at some time during the night and we’d like to hear from anyone who saw someone acting suspiciously in or around Willow Road.’
‘So how was she killed?’
‘As soon as I’ve had cause of death confirmed, I’ll let you know,’ James said. ‘The pathologist is in there as we speak.’
‘Oh, come on, Inspector. You’ve been in there yourself so you must have a pretty good idea. Was she stabbed, and if so, do you believe the killer is the same person who murdered Charlie Jenkins?’
‘It’s impossible to know at this early stage if there’s a link between the two deaths,’ James answered. ‘But, of course, it’s something that warrants consideration, and we’ll be looking for similarities and connections.’
‘So what message do you want to send to the people of Kirkby Abbey?’ Carver said. ‘Should they be worried that a maniac is on the prowl and that nobody is safe?’
James shook his head. ‘That’d be irresponsible and you know it.’
‘Okay, then what advice have you got for those who will be understandably concerned after they hear that there has been another murder?’
‘The main thing is that there’s no need to panic,’ James said. ‘But at the same time, it makes sense for people to be extra vigilant until the person responsible is in custody.’
Carver was eager to ask more questions, but a uniformed officer approached them and whispered to James that the pathologist needed an urgent word with him inside the house.
James told Carver he would speak to him again later and went looking for Dr Flint. He found her in the kitchen looking down on Lorna Manning’s body.
Removing her face mask, she said, ‘First, I can confirm that the victim’s throat was slashed and she was stabbed in the stomach. There are no other wounds. The murder weapon could well be the same knife that was used to kill Charlie Jenkins. I’ll need to do more work to be sure.’
Dr Flint reached behind her and picked up an envelope from the worktop.
‘This was in her dressing gown pocket,’ she said. ‘I thought you should see it before anyone else.’
James put his latex gloves back on before taking the envelope from her. An ugly fear spread through him when he saw that his own name had been scrawled on the front with a black marker.
The envelope wasn’t stuck shut so he opened it and pulled out another of the Twelve Days of Christmas cards.
There was a short message inside, and it caused the blood to thunder through his veins.
Two down, ten to go.
Merry Christmas to the people of Kirkby Abbey.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Annie was in a state of absolute despair.
Her face was awash with tears for the second day in a row and there was a grinding ache in her chest.
She was trying hard to concentrate on the television news, but her thoughts kept drifting to poor Lorna. What had happened to the woman was so wrong and tragic and despicable. She had been a good person, a kind person, a person who always put others before herself. It made no sense to Annie that someone had felt compelled to take her life in such a brutal fashion.
Unless, of course, she was picked at random by a killer who was so deranged that he or she thought it would be fun to flag up their evil intentions in a Christmas card that was placed in a parcel alongside a dead bird.
It was like being trapped in a never-ending nightmare that began three months ago when Andrew Sullivan was released from prison. Then came the gruesome murder of Charlie Jenkins, the man who she’d had a crush on in their youth. After that, the cancellation of family Christmas. And now this. Annie’s boss stabbed to death in her own home.
A memory came to her suddenly, of when she’d first met Lorna. She went to the school to let them know that she was a supply teacher and had moved to Kirkby Abbey. Lorna invited her into her office where they chatted for a good hour before the woman offered her regular shifts. They hit it off immediately and Annie was struck by how committed Lorna was to the campaign for keeping the school open. She knew for sure that the staff and the children were going to be devastated by Lorna’s death.
An image on the TV screen snapped her back to the present. It was mobile phone footage of the scene outside Lorna’s house in Willow Road. The newsreader was explaining that it had been sent to them by their correspondent, Gordon Carver, who lived in Kirkby Abbey.
‘Police have yet to confirm the identity of the victim or the manner of her death, but have told us that a murder investigation has been launched,’ the newsreader said. ‘Locals say the house is owned by a Miss Lorna Manning, headmistress of the village primary school. This is the second murder in Kirkby Abbey in just twenty-four hours. On Saturday night pub landlord Charlie Jenkins was stabbed to death while walking his dog in a field less than a quarter of a mile from Lorna Manning’s house in Willow Road. Police insist that at this point there is no obvious link between the two killings.’
