by Alex Pine
He said as much to Annie when they were alone in the kitchen and the surprise was evident on her face.
‘But I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘It sounded like he was being honest to me.’
‘It could be that I’ve read him wrong, hon. I’ll keep an open mind but I’ll also need to make sure I know where he is at all times.’
They tried to persuade Bill to stay the night but he declined the offer, saying he would have to return to The King’s Head anyway to get his things. He wouldn’t let James walk with him either, insisting he was ‘old enough and ugly enough’ to find his own way there, even in the dark.
After he’d gone, Annie said she was too tired and distraught to sit up and needed to go to bed. James said he wasn’t ready to call it a night so he offered to clear up the dinner things.
‘I’ll be up in a little while,’ he said. ‘I just need to sort out a couple of things ready for tomorrow.’
After tidying the dining room, he went to his study and typed up a short report about what had happened during the day. Then he wrote down a list of action points for tomorrow.
The files, envelopes and diaries from Lorna Manning’s suitcase were still piled up on his desk. He’d already decided that he would have to sift through them all before sending them to the station. After all, the confession had provided one clue so maybe there were more to be found.
He skimmed through the contents of all the envelopes and files first and then turned his attention to the diaries. They went back ten years; it appeared she’d started keeping them after moving to her new life in Kirkby Abbey.
James read through the first couple and found no suspicious entries or any mention of the hit-and-run accident that Lorna had been involved in.
By now he was struggling to stay awake and his eyes were sore. He decided to look through the rest of the diaries tomorrow.
He left the study and before going up to bed he turned off all the downstairs lights. And that was when he realised what was happening outside. Through the window he could see snow falling like confetti, smothering everything in the back garden.
He realised it was finally the start of the truly dire weather conditions that had been forecast and it sent a chill flushing through his body.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I know I’ve had too much to drink, but I don’t give a toss. If the bar had stayed open, I’d still be there, throwing back triple vodkas while watching the news on the big wall-mounted television screen.
It’s been good to get out. I needed to try and forget what another shit day I’ve had. The snow that’s coming down doesn’t bother me. In fact, I find it curiously comforting because it makes it less likely that anyone else who’s out this late will spot me walking unsteadily through the village. And that includes the coppers who are wandering around trying, and failing, to make everyone feel safer.
There’s a lot of stuff swirling around inside my head, including the voice of the newsreader as she described in sombre tones what had happened in Kirkby Abbey.
Two murders. Two bodies. Hundreds of people living in fear for their lives. There were interviews with some of them, along with video clips of Lorna Manning’s house and the field where Charlie Jenkins was found lying in the snow.
It still doesn’t seem to me like it’s really happening. It’s so scary, so weird, so fucking unbelievable.
And the police are saying the killer probably lives in the village, which makes it even more shocking.
I can’t imagine it would be any of the people I know – most of them are vile, judgemental cretins – but I’m pretty sure that none of them would be capable of committing multiple murders.
There are hundreds of people living in Kirkby Abbey who I don’t know, though. And I suppose any one of them could be a raving psychopath.
This is what I’m thinking about as I pass the village square. Even through the snow I can see the lights on the giant Christmas tree, and suddenly it seems so out of place at the centre of a community living beneath a cloak of terror.
Everything else is in darkness, including The White Hart pub, the hair salon and the only clothes shop in the village.
I find it hard to imagine that life here will ever be the same again. The place will always be tainted by the blood of the killer’s innocent victims.
As I turn off the square, I start to feel dizzy. The vodka is finally hitting the spot, just as I knew it would. But that’s okay because I haven’t got far to go, and soon I’ll be crashed out on the bed. Booze always helps me to sleep, which is partly why I tend to drink more than I should.
I’m heading towards the outskirts of the village now and the relentless snow is beginning to get on my nerves. I keep having to wipe it from my face, and I’m finding it harder to see where I’m going. The cold is also getting to me, and I’m shivering under my heavy coat and thick jumper.
It comes as a relief when I spot the sign for the garden centre up ahead. It means I’m almost there. I decide to have a nightcap before getting into bed; a large, strong drink to warm me up.
As I draw level with the garden centre’s low wall, I hear what sounds like someone fighting for breath close behind me.
Acting on instinct, I stop and turn, but there’s no time for me to react to what happens next. There’s only time to register the familiar face that’s barely an arm’s length away.
Then comes a sharp pain, and I think I’ve been punched in the stomach. But when my head drops, I see the knife being wrenched out of me.
I stagger back against the wall, but I’m not able to stop the knife being plunged into me a second time.
The ground suddenly opens up beneath me and I feel myself being dragged down into a dark pit, with the words of my assailant ringing in my ears.
‘This is no more than you deserve, and it’s been a long time coming.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Wednesday December 21st
It was snowing heavily when James and Annie woke up on Wednesday morning.
On the TV news there were reports of trees coming down and roads being blocked. As predicted, it was Scotland and the northern counties of England that were the worst hit. Some areas were already without power, and commuters heading for work were facing traffic chaos.
A story broke just as James was about to take a mug of tea up to Annie who was still in bed. There had been a major pile-up on the M6 a few miles south of Penrith. Dozens of vehicles were involved, and it was feared there would be multiple casualties. The motorway was now closed in both directions to enable emergency vehicles to get to the scene, and traffic was backed up for miles.
James knew there was no knowing how many officers would make it to Kirkby Abbey, either because roads were blocked or because they were about to be reassigned.
He told Annie how bad it was out there and she reminded him that the village could be cut off.
‘A big problem for us is that there’s only one road in and out,’ she said. ‘And it doesn’t take much to make it impassable.’
It was the last thing James wanted to hear as he turned his thoughts to the day ahead. The case was already proving to be a tough one to crack, and now they would have to persevere in Arctic conditions and most likely with fewer people.
He showered and dressed before making any calls. It was 7.30 a.m. when he rang DS Stevens, only to discover that he was still at his home in Burneside, digging his car out of the driveway.
‘I didn’t realise how much came down last night,’ he told James. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got up this morning. My house is in a dip so the snow piles up. But it shouldn’t take me much longer to get going.’
Stevens was aware of the M6 pile-up and had heard that so far three people were known to have been killed.
‘It’s a serious one, for sure,’ he said. ‘And I expect there’ll be many more accidents by the end of the day. Resources will be stretched.’
James then phoned the office in Kendal. Thankfully, most of the team had a
lready turned up and others were on their way in, including DCI Tanner. James was told that the officers in Kirkby Abbey had called in with nothing to report. It had been a quiet night and they hadn’t had to respond to any incidents.
Next James called DC Abbott on her mobile. She was having breakfast in her B&B and said she would pick him up in her car if he wanted her to.
‘You can see now why I decided to stay overnight here, guv,’ she said. ‘I know what it’s like in these parts when the snows come.’
‘It was a good call,’ James said. ‘How hard do you think it will be for others to reach the village?’
‘That depends how bad the roads are. I haven’t checked yet, but I’ll put a call in to control if you like and get the latest from them.’
‘Good idea. By the way did you sleep well?’
‘Like a log,’ she said. ‘The bed is twice the size of the one I’ve got at home and I didn’t have to share it with my boyfriend.’
He told her he would call her when he was ready to leave and they would go first to the village hall.
Annie joined him downstairs while she was still in her dressing gown.
‘I’m having some toast before I set off,’ he said. ‘Do you want some?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll make myself something when you’ve gone. Will you let me know how things go?’
‘Of course. What have you got planned?’
‘Nothing at all, apart from a visit to the store. And I suppose I’ll have to touch base with my uncle. It’s such a shame that he decided to come here so soon before Christmas. He’d have avoided all that’s going on if he’d come on the twenty-second, as agreed.’
‘But didn’t he come early because he was worried that the weather might stop him from getting here?’
Annie nodded. ‘Exactly. How gloriously ironic.’
‘Is he intent on staying?’
‘I’m not sure. We should have asked him last night when we had the chance. He can’t leave anyway until his car’s ready.’
James had just started to butter his toast when his phone rang. He picked it up from the table, saw that it was Father Silver who was calling, and felt a flicker of trepidation.
‘Good morning, Father,’ he said. ‘Any chance you’re not ringing me with more bad news?’
‘Sadly no, Detective Walker,’ he said. ‘You need to come to the rectory right away. I’ve received another card and you are not going to like what’s written inside.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
James arrived at the rectory fifteen minutes later in DC Abbott’s Fiat after a quick drive through the snow-covered streets of the village.
Father Silver was waiting for them at the door, a mournful expression on his face. ‘I can’t believe it’s happened again. Why am I being singled out like this?’
‘You’re not, Father,’ James told him. ‘You’re just one of an unfortunate group of people on the killer’s mailing list. Now where is the latest card?
‘Follow me.’
James had never been inside the rectory and was struck by how cluttered it was. There was an over-abundance of furniture and most of it was old and large – from the floor-to-ceiling bookcase in the hallway to the table that was far too big for the modestly sized kitchen.
The card was on the table, the distinctive Twelve Days of Christmas image facing them as they entered.
‘I’ve been careful only to touch it at the edges,’ Father Silver said. ‘And I’ve also kept the envelope.’
James put on latex gloves before he picked it up. DC Abbott peered over his shoulder as he read the message inside, which once again had been scrawled in black marker.
I want you to know that I’ve taken the life of another sinner, Father. Someone else who did the work of the devil. Someone who brought shame on our tiny community and therefore deserved to die.
Merry Christmas once again.
James and Abbott exchanged a look and it was the DC who put into words what they were both thinking.
‘This must mean there was another murder last night,’ she said, with a tremor in her voice. ‘We just haven’t heard about it yet.’
James felt his heart sink into his boots. ‘That’s probably because it’s still early and not many people have ventured out.’
‘Then we need to mount a search, guv. The snow won’t make things easy for us, though.’
James took an evidence bag from his pocket and put the card and envelope into it.
Then he turned to the priest. ‘You told me it was put through your letter box. Have you any idea when that would have been?’
‘I went to bed at ten o’clock last night,’ Father Silver said. ‘I didn’t know it was there until I came downstairs this morning to have breakfast before going to the church.’
‘And you didn’t hear or see anyone outside during the night?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m a heavy sleeper, Detective Walker. It takes a lot to wake me once I’m in bed.’
‘And have you given any thought to who might be responsible? I know it sounds like a silly question, but I have to ask it.’
‘Well, the answer is yes, I have given it a great deal of thought, but for the life of me I can’t think of anyone I know who would commit such heinous crimes. And that makes it all the more disturbing because the clear impression I get from those messages is that the person who wrote them knows me.’
James nodded. ‘There’s a good chance he does, Father. There’s no doubt in our minds that he’s local and appears to have his finger on the pulse of the community.’
‘Why are you so sure that this isn’t the work of a woman? You’re always referring to the killer as a man.’
‘We’re basing that on experience and on what little evidence we have,’ James said. ‘But there is an outside chance that we could be wrong, and for that reason our list of potential suspects includes both men and women.’
‘That’s good to know,’ the priest said.
‘There’s one other thing before we go, Father. As always, please don’t mention this to anyone else.’
The priest put a finger to his lips. ‘You have my word, Detective Walker. But if there is another victim out there then I would ask you to let me know as soon as possible so that I can pray for his or her soul.’
‘It’s a deal,’ James said.
James got an unwelcome surprise when he arrived at the village hall. Three of the seven uniformed officers who had worked through the night had departed for home several hours ago, their replacements had been diverted to the M6 to help handle the pile-up, and the two detectives who had been part of the team yesterday were having trouble reaching the village.
DC Abbott put in a quick call to control to find out how bad the situation was on the roads and the news added to James’s woes.
‘The snow is causing havoc,’ she said. ‘A lot of the minor roads are blocked and there’s monumental congestion.’
‘Any updates on the motorway accident?’
‘The death toll remains at three, but six people have been taken to hospital. And some drivers are waiting to be cut out of wrecked vehicles. It sounds horrendous, guv.’
James called what remained of the team together and broke the news about the latest card. Inspector Boyd informed him that in spite of the snow his officers had carried out patrols throughout the night, but they hadn’t come across anyone on the streets.
‘If the message in the card is to be believed, there’s been a third murder,’ he said. ‘We’ve still got one patrol car at our disposal and four officers. So, let’s get out there and start looking around. Meanwhile, I’ll brief the boss in Kendal. If there is another body then we’ll need more help.’
James called DCI Tanner, who had only just arrived at the station. He responded to the news about the latest card with a long, heavy silence.
‘So far there’s no word of a body turning up,’ James said. ‘But my gut is telling me that it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Thi
s is all we fucking need,’ Tanner said, breaking his silence. ‘It never rains but it pours.’
‘Always the way, sir. But we’re going to need more help here, and fast.’
He told Tanner about the officers who’d been diverted to the M6 and the detectives who were struggling to get in.
‘Leave it with me,’ Tanner said. ‘I’ll get to work on it. But I know how difficult things are out there because it’s just taken me an hour and a half to get in instead of the usual twenty minutes.’
James said he would keep Tanner informed and hung up.
Just as he did so the inspector seized his attention.
‘The owner of the garden centre here in the village just phoned 999, sir,’ he said. ‘He claims he’s found a body on the property.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
The patrol car beat them to the garden centre. DC Abbott pulled up behind it in her Fiat and she and James climbed out.
Fortunately, the wind had eased by this time and so had the snow. It was still falling but less aggressively.
There was a low wall in front of the small, single-storey building, and the uniformed officer from the patrol car was standing on the other side of it.
By peering over the wall James could see victim number three. The scene was similar to the one he had encountered on Sunday morning. But Charlie Jenkins had been lying on his back in the field. This poor soul was face down.
‘The owner of the garden centre is a Mr Paul Granger,’ the officer said. ‘I told him to wait inside. He found the body when he arrived to open up. He brushed off some of the snow just to make sure it wasn’t a pile of clothes or something else.’
‘It’s definitely a fella,’ DC Abbott said, and that was obvious to James as well.
The guy was wearing black trainers, denim jeans and a thick green coat. But his face wasn’t visible and the back of his head was sprinkled with snowflakes.
‘We need to turn him over,’ James said. ‘See what we’ve got.’
