The Christmas Killer

by Alex Pine

  There was no mention of the threat contained in the Christmas card and Annie was anxious to know what would finally convince James and his colleagues to make it public.

  Would it be a third murder?

  Annie stayed at home for another half an hour, by which time it felt like the walls were closing in on her. The pounding in her head filled her ears and her heart was in overdrive.

  She had to get out of the house and talk to someone. The news about Lorna had made her forget what she’d been planning to do this morning. But now it came back to her that she was going to visit Uncle Bill before attending the church service for Charlie. The service wasn’t due to start until two but she supposed there was a good chance it would now be cancelled.

  She decided to stick roughly to the plan and pop along to The King’s Head to check on Bill. She’d tried calling his mobile, but as per usual he hadn’t answered. She’d stay with him for only a short time because she intended to drop in at the school before going to the church, even though James had advised her not to. She expected most of the staff to turn up there and she wanted to show her face as well.

  On the way to the pub she was stopped three times by people she knew who asked her if she had heard about Lorna. The shock was evident in their expressions, and one woman who had a son at the school began to cry.

  When Annie reached The King’s Head the landlady, Martha, was outside sweeping the snow away from the entrance. She acknowledged Annie with a curt nod instead of her usual warm smile.

  ‘I’m sure you would have been one of the first to hear about Lorna,’ she said. ‘It’s so terrible, Annie. I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘You and me both,’ Annie said.

  ‘Do you know how she was killed? Was she stabbed like Charlie?’

  ‘I’ve not been told,’ Annie lied.

  ‘But I heard that your husband is in charge.’

  Annie nodded. ‘He is, but when it comes to police protocol, he treats me like any other member of the public.’

  They talked about it for a couple of minutes and Martha told Annie that she last saw Lorna on Wednesday evening.

  ‘She came here and had dinner with Giles Keegan,’ Martha said. ‘I’d never seen them together before and they seemed to really enjoy each other’s company. She was telling him about life as a headmistress, and he was regaling her with stories about his years with the police before he retired.’

  Annie expressed her surprise. ‘Were they an item? If so, then it wasn’t common knowledge,’

  Martha shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But I thought it was nice to see her out with a man. Usually she came here by herself or with other women.’

  Annie would have been happy to carry on talking for a while, but time was pressing so she asked if her Uncle Bill was still in his room.

  ‘I know for a fact that he isn’t because I just made it up,’ Martha said. ‘He left here about eleven after having breakfast and he didn’t say where he was going. He’s in and out of here more often than any guest we’ve ever had. And he told me about his car accident. That really shook him up.’

  ‘I just hope he managed to get a good night’s sleep,’ Annie said.

  ‘I’m not sure he did. He went out just before we closed up and I didn’t see or hear him come back in later.’

  ‘He’s always been a restless soul. I think he’s finding it harder to relax the older he gets.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ Martha said with a laugh that sounded forced. Understandable, given all that had happened.

  Knowing now she wouldn’t find her uncle, Annie took her leave.

  ‘I’d better be getting on, Martha, thanks for your help.’

  Waving goodbye, Annie turned and was heading for the school when a horrid thought occurred her. What if Bill couldn’t account for his movements last night? Would he become a suspect in Lorna’s murder?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Ninety minutes had passed since the pathologist had handed James the card that was found on Lorna Manning’s body. But the words inside it were still causing his heart to beat at a rapid rate.

  Two down, ten to go.

  Merry Christmas to the people of Kirkby Abbey.

  He’d shown the card to DS Stevens before it was sealed in a bag and handed to a forensic officer. So far, only the pair of them, plus Dr Flint, knew about it. James hadn’t yet told Tanner because the DCI was on his way to Kirkby Abbey and would be put in the picture when he arrived.

  The two detectives had finally found time to sit in one of the patrol cars so that they could talk about it.

  ‘Surely this is positive proof that Lorna Manning was killed by the same person who murdered Charlie Jenkins,’ the DS said. ‘The same psycho who delivered the dead partridge to your house.’

  James nodded. He couldn’t really disagree.

  James checked the photo on his phone of the first message he had received.

  Here’s a Christmas gift for you, detective Walker. It’s a little early, I know, but I just couldn’t wait. My very own take on the twelve days of Christmas, complete with a dead partridge. Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

  He showed it to Stevens and said, ‘That final sentence suggests that Charlie and Lorna were not randomly picked. The perp, for whatever reason, believes they both deserved to die. Or that’s just an excuse his warped mind has come up with to justify a killing spree.’

  ‘You shouldn’t assume the killer is male,’ Stevens said, his tone sharp.

  James blew out an exasperated breath. ‘I’m not. But we both know it probably is a bloke since more than 90 per cent of homicides are committed by men.’

  ‘But there’s no clear evidence that this one was.’

  ‘I accept that, but we’ll refer to the perp as a “he” for now, just to keep things simple. Have you got a problem with that?’

  Stevens shook his head and wisely chose not to argue the point. ‘Of course not, guv.’

  ‘Good. Now back to the case. We have to accept that it’s possible the killer thought Charlie deserved to die because he’d committed adultery at least twice, although we can’t know for sure if he would have known about the fling with Janet.’

  ‘But what about Lorna?’ Stevens said. ‘There’s been no suggestion that she’s done anything that could be perceived as seriously wrong.’

  ‘We need to look into that,’ James said. ‘Her son might have some thoughts on it.’

  Through the windscreen James could see that the crowd of onlookers had grown. So, too, had the number of uniformed officers who were managing the site and the SOCOs moving in and out of Lorna Manning’s house. Some were taking photos while others were on their knees in the front garden searching for clues.

  After discussing a few more issues, the detectives got out of the car and went back into the house.

  Dr Flint told them she had done all she could do on site and had arranged for the body to be removed. She also promised not to mouth a word about the card found in the victim’s pocket.

  ‘I just hope you catch the bastard because I don’t want my visits to this village to become a daily event,’ she said with a mirthless grin.

  The chief forensic officer explained that his team still had a lot more work to do, but they hadn’t so far come across a murder weapon or evidence to suggest that any of Lorna’s belongings had been stolen. He agreed with James’s theory that the perp had broken into the house through the back door and Lorna had got out of bed and come downstairs to investigate.

  James intended to have another look around the house himself, but his phone rang and the call was from a number he didn’t recognise.

  ‘DI Walker,’ he said.

  ‘It’s Father Silver here, Detective Walker. Are you able to talk?’

  ‘Not right now, Father.’

  ‘It’s just that something else has turned up here, in the churchyard. It relates to Miss Manning’s death and I really think you should come and
see it without delay,’ the priest said.

  James and DS Stevens were driven to the church in a patrol car. Neither of them knew what to expect, but James was anticipating another bizarre development.

  The last couple of days had been like none he had ever experienced. Two brutal murders and a threat to kill that was off the scale in terms of its creepy originality.

  He was satisfied now that it was all related and therefore three investigations had merged into one. On that basis, it would hopefully be easy to persuade Tanner and those above him to assign enough people to it.

  His mind kept taking him back to the crime scenes and each time he felt his skin go cold.

  The blood on the snow and the kitchen floor. The terrible wounds inflicted on each of the victims. The heartless way the two lives had been cut short.

  He had attended hundreds of crime scenes while working for the Met in London. He’d seen murder victims who had been stabbed, shot, strangled and battered. But this was different, because it was happening in the small village where he and Annie had just set up home.

  Both murders had been committed a short walk from their front door. And they had a connection with the victims. Plus, there was no way they could distance themselves from any of it – because either of them could become the killer’s next victim if he got it into his head that they, too, deserved to die.

  Father Silver was waiting for them just inside the churchyard gate. He was rubbing his hands together and stamping his feet against the cold.

  ‘We got here as quickly as we could, Father,’ James said. ‘What’s turned up? Is it another Christmas card?’

  The ashen-faced priest shook his head. ‘It’s worse than that, Inspector. To say I’m shocked would be a gross understatement. Whoever is behind what is going on is one sick individual.’

  Gravel crunched under their shoes as they followed the priest along a path that led to the rear of the church.

  ‘I happened upon what you’re about to see during a walk around the churchyard,’ he said. ‘I needed some space to think because I learned about what had happened to Miss Manning while I was preparing for the service for Mr Jenkins. I found it hard to take in.’

  ‘I can well understand that, Father,’ James said. ‘This has come as a shock to all of us.’

  He took them to a spot that James was familiar with. It was the grave of Nadia Patel.

  On Saturday morning her son Keith had kicked up a stink because the white headstone had been sprayed with paint by vandals. Well, now the paint was gone, but resting up against the headstone was a colour photo of Lorna Manning. It was about eight inches square and in a thin silver frame. There were several spots of what looked like dried blood on the glass. And a message in black marker ink that read:

  Lorna Manning deserved to die. The woman in this grave did not.

  Father Silver had known Lorna Manning reasonably well. She had practised Catholicism and had occasionally attended Sunday Mass. They’d also worked together helping to organise various events in the village.

  ‘I’ve been to Lorna’s home several times,’ he told James, pointing to the framed photo that was lying against the headstone. ‘I’m certain that picture was on the display unit in the living room alongside photos of her son and granddaughter.’

  While DS Stevens went back to the patrol car to get a bag to put the photo in, James asked Father Silver if anyone had been in the churchyard this morning or last night.

  ‘I left here at seven o’clock last evening and arrived back at nine this morning,’ the priest answered. ‘If someone was here between those times, I wouldn’t have seen them.’

  ‘Is the gate locked at night?’

  ‘If it was, it wouldn’t keep people out. As you can see, the surrounding wall is only a few feet high.’

  ‘Annie said that Lorna appeared to be unsettled and not very happy. Do you know what might have been the cause?’ James asked.

  ‘Sometimes she struck me as quite depressed. I tried a number of times to get her to open up, but she wouldn’t. She was a very private person, but immensely likeable. She’ll be greatly missed.’

  ‘Do you know if she was in a relationship?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Whenever I saw her out in the village she was by herself and never mentioned a partner. But she was married at one time.’

  ‘And do you know if there was any ill-feeling between her and Keith Patel? Was she one of the people he blamed for not calling on his mother while the woman was lying on the floor after her accident?’

  ‘You will have to ask him about that, Inspector. I wouldn’t know. But they weren’t neighbours. Mr Patel lives on the opposite side of the village to Willow Road.’

  The priest paused before changing the subject abruptly. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the card I received. And now that we’ve had two murders in the village, I’m inclined to believe it was a statement of fact and not some baseless threat.’

  James saw no reason not to be honest with the man. After all, they were both on the murderer’s Christmas card list.

  ‘I accept that the evidence is now overwhelming, Father,’ he said. ‘It’s a frightening thought, I know, and for that reason we have to think carefully about how much information we release to the public. Myself and other senior officers will be discussing all the options at a meeting this afternoon. The safety of the villagers is paramount, but we have to balance that against the likelihood that if people know about the threat it could trigger serious panic.’

  ‘You’re faced with an agonising dilemma, Inspector,’ the priest replied. ‘And I know that you’ll do everything you can to protect the people of Kirkby Abbey. But surely they have a right to know what the situation is. Those who feel threatened can then take extra precautions to keep themselves safe, which may well entail going to stay with friends or relatives until the killer is caught.’

  DS Stevens arrived back with a plastic bag for the photograph just then and James thanked the priest for calling him.

  ‘Could you please keep this development to yourself, just as you have the card containing the funeral message, Father?’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ Father Silver said. ‘Will you be going to speak to Keith Patel?’

  ‘His house is our next stop after leaving here,’ James told him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Keith Patel was none too pleased to see them. He complained that he was in the middle of his lunch and asked them to come back later.

  ‘That won’t be possible, Mr Patel,’ James said. ‘Either you allow us to come in so we can ask you some questions or we’ll be forced to take you for a ride, all the way to the station in Kendal.’

  ‘Are you kidding? What do you want to talk to me about?’

  ‘It’s in relation to the death of Lorna Manning and the photograph of her that was placed on your mother’s grave at some point during the night.’

  His demeanour shifted. ‘Are you talking about the schoolteacher woman? I didn’t know she was dead. And what the fuck else has happened to Mum’s grave?’

  James refused to go into the details on the doorstep so Patel allowed them in. They followed him to the living room where the television was on.

  Patel dropped into an armchair and released a loud breath. In front of him on the coffee table rested a bowl of brown soup and a glass of orange juice.

  The two detectives remained standing, and James nodded at the television.

  ‘Have you seen or heard the news this morning, Mr Patel?’ he asked.

  Patel shook his head. ‘I try to avoid it. Too full of crap. Now what’s this about Lorna Manning and Mum’s grave?’

  He appeared genuinely surprised when James told him about the latest murder. But surprise turned to confusion when James showed him a picture he’d taken on his phone of the framed photo against the headstone.

  Patel couldn’t see the words written on it so James read them out to him.

  ‘That’s some weird shit,’ Patel said
. ‘But whoever wrote it was right about my mum. She didn’t deserve to die.’

  ‘Have you seen that photo of Miss Manning before, Mr Patel?’ James asked him.

  ‘Of course I haven’t. I know who she is and we’ve said hello to each other in passing, but that’s about it. Do you seriously think I put it there?’

  James shrugged. ‘It seems odd that of all the graves in the churchyard it should end up on your mother’s.’

  ‘Well, it’s got sod all to do with me.’

  ‘So can you tell us if you were anywhere near Miss Manning’s house in Willow Road last night?’ This from Stevens.

  ‘I haven’t been out of the house since yesterday. My knees have been playing up so I thought I’d rest them. And besides, it’s been years since I walked over to that part of the village. No reason to.’

  ‘Did your mother know Miss Manning?’ James said.

  ‘I don’t think so. She was never mentioned and Mum rarely got out of here.’

  ‘So Miss Manning wasn’t one of the villagers who you believe should have checked up on your mother after her fall.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t.’

  ‘And what about Charlie Jenkins, Mr Patel? Did you have a problem with him?’

  The question seemed to trigger a warning bell in his head. He bared his teeth and gave James a hard look.

  ‘I don’t fucking believe this,’ he shouted. ‘The last time you came here you more or less accused me of sending you a threatening message in a Christmas card. Now you’re trying to pin two murders on me. Well, I’ll say what I said before, and that is I won’t be answering any more of your questions unless I’ve got a lawyer with me. So piss off and find some other poor sod to harass.’

  After leaving Keith Patel’s house, the two detectives headed straight for the village hall in the patrol car. But they didn’t have time to discuss what the guy had told them because as soon as they set off, James’s phone rang. It was Annie, and she sounded anxious.