DCI James Hardy Series Boxset

by Jay Gill

  I was driving the four hours to Cornwall on nothing more than a hunch. If I was wrong, I’d have lost a day and Simon Baker could be long gone. I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind. I needed to stay positive; my hunches and my instincts were good, I told myself. Detective work is the process of elimination; I’d eliminated the alternatives and was making the only logical next step. I kept telling myself, “If I have this right, I can end this now.” But the long drive and tiredness introduced time, time to think and time to doubt my instincts. Knowing it was only mind tricks didn’t make stopping the worry any easier. I pressed on at full speed, using my lights when necessary. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could put Baker down.

  Just after midday I parked a safe distance away and began walking towards the single hilltop cottage. It was a long walk; I hadn’t parked close, as any sound from an approaching vehicle would be carried on the wind, even over the sound of seagulls and crashing waves.

  I hunkered down behind a dry-stone wall some two hundred metres from the cottage. Through my field binoculars I would be able to make out the faces of anyone arriving or leaving. I watched the house for close to an hour and saw nothing. I felt sick to my stomach. What if I was wrong? I tried to get comfortable. If I was to approach the house, I wanted to be sure Baker was in there. This was my best chance of cornering him, and if he saw me before I saw him, he’d be gone in a flash. Despite my eagerness, it was patience and surprise I needed now. As soon as I had a positive ID, I’d call for backup. Right now, this was all on me.

  It was a long and gruelling wait. The sun had been beating down on me all day, and I could feel my neck and face were burnt. My back and knees were aching, and my tongue and throat were parched.

  Nothing happened at the cottage all day, and then around 9 p.m. a silver E-Class Mercedes slowly made its way to the house and parked up outside.

  I watched as a couple got out of the car. The summer evening light was fading fast and I was having difficulty picking out their features. The woman got out first and immediately pulled a light scarf over her head. She looked elegant and wore a two-piece suit and heels that didn’t suit walking on the uneven ground outside a Cornish cottage. A tall thin man got out, opened the car’s back door and pulled out a travel bag and a bottle of wine from the back seat. As he lifted them out and began to stand, I focused the binoculars on where his face was going to be when he straightened. I needed a positive ID. No mistakes: I needed to be certain it was Baker before I moved in. As he lifted his head and straightened his body, the woman came around the side of the car and blocked my view. Doubt began to creep through me, mocking me.

  The tall man opened up the cottage and the couple entered. The lights went on inside, but I was no better off. The cottage windows were small, and I knew I’d never make a positive ID from here. For all I knew they were holiday makers renting the cottage for a romantic few days away.

  “Okay, get off your arse and go take a look,” I muttered. Great; now I was talking to myself.

  I checked my weapon and thought about what I needed to take. If all hell broke loose, it was best I be able to move quickly. I left everything except my Glock, which I checked a second time. Nerves.

  I waited a few minutes until it was a little darker and then followed the dry-stone wall. I stayed low and followed it straight for a few minutes and then turned left and followed it up the hillside until I eventually came to a gap for the driveway to the cottage. I passed over the driveway and followed the wall until I was up close. Then I climbed over and, staying low, headed to the rear of the cottage. I stopped and crouched behind a log pile. My heart was racing. All my senses told me Baker was in that building and he had another victim with him. But if I was wrong and burst in, the repercussions didn’t bear thinking about. At the very least it would be a serious internal investigation, as well as a dream come true for the press. I couldn’t allow someone to die, but I had to be sure it was him.

  I edged along the side of the building and made my way to the first window. I peered in and could see no movement. My heart was hammering and felt ready to explode out of my chest. I listened and could hear the woman. She sounded distressed. I moved fast to the next window. I could hear voices. The woman was calling. Was I too late? I unclipped the Glock and peered in through the window. The woman was drinking red wine and singing along to music.

  All at once, she stopped and fixed her eyes on mine. She paused for a moment, then screamed. Simon Baker came rushing in from another room. My heart pounded. It was him. I’ve got you.

  He looked at her, then followed her eyes to the window.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  I moved quickly to the front of the cottage and kicked open the front door. “Scotland Yard Police, Inspector Hardy,” I said as I held out my warrant card. “Simon Baker, do not move. Stay right there.”

  The woman dropped her glass of wine and ran for cover behind a small green sofa. I pointed at her. “I’m a plain-clothes police officer. For your own safety please stay right there. Do not move.”

  Baker took his chance. He turned on his heels and ran back through to the next room. I raised my weapon and followed him. I paused at the entrance to the room. Cautiously, I took the couple of steps up and entered it. Set against the wall at the back of this room was a narrow staircase leading to what I assumed was an attic room. I began to cross towards the staircase when, through the posts, the barrel of a shotgun appeared. I threw myself forward to the foot of the staircase, turned and fired. I missed, and a post beside Baker splintered.

  Baker couldn’t turn the shotgun fast enough. He turned to run. I fired again, deliberately wide. The bullet grazed his shoulder; he stumbled and began reeling in pain.

  “Christ – you shot me,” screamed Baker in disbelief. “You really shot me?” He dropped the shotgun and focused his attention on the wound. He slumped back on the stairs. “How could you shoot me, James?”

  “Simon Baker, you’re under arrest for multiple murder.”

  Baker smiled at me and began to laugh, which caused him to wince in pain. “We had fun though, right? And we’ll still spend time together? Hours and hours and hours discussing my case and the investigation, right?” he asked.

  I said nothing. I cuffed him and dragged him through to the front room. I called for local police assistance and an ambulance, and then I called Rayner. The woman was sitting outside, leaning against the front wall of the house. I passed her a blanket from off the sofa.

  “Kelly,” she said. “My name is Kelly Lyle.”

  “Detective Chief Inspector James Hardy. James.”

  “Is he really that serial killer I read about, James?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would he have killed me?”

  “I don’t know.” I wanted to give her a better answer but I really didn’t know.

  “Why didn’t you kill him?”

  I looked at her, not sure what she was asking me.

  “Nobody would have known,” she continued. “You should have killed him, James. He’s killed so many people. Yet he gets to live. Hardly seems like justice.”

  Unsure what to say, I said nothing, and instead watched as she lit a cigarette. It was dark now and the tip of the cigarette glowed.

  “He’s losing a lot of blood,” I told her. “I had better go and check on him. The ambulance is going to be some time yet.”

  Then Kelly Lyle surprised me. “I can help. I was a doctor, a long time ago. I worked in the United States. Saw my fair share of gunshot wounds. I’ll take a look.” She got up and went inside to attend to Baker.

  Kelly cleaned and dressed the wound while I paced and called again for the ambulance. I could hear Baker mumbling in the background, a lot of nonsense and egotistical crap.

  “We had fun, didn’t we, Hardy? The Mentor said it would be fun, once things really got going. I think The Mentor will be proud. Look how far we’ve come.” He began to laugh and wince from the pain.

  Kelly finished up and followed
me as I stepped back outside the cottage. The reception was better outside and I was keen to hear how far away the ambulance was. I dialled the number again and walked about trying to get a better signal.

  A piercing scream from inside the house stopped me in my tracks. I spun around and looked for Kelly. She wasn’t outside with me. I was sure she had followed me out of the cottage. I ran inside and saw her on the floor with Baker on top of her. They were both covered in blood. Whose blood? I looked and looked again. The blood was Baker’s. With his hands still cuffed behind his back, he was fighting with Kelly. Blood pumped from wounds to his neck. There was blood everywhere.

  Kelly raised her arm and stabbed Baker again. In her hand, I saw the stem of a broken wine glass. The glass she dropped earlier, I thought. I dragged Baker off her and watched as he took his last gasping breath.

  “He tripped me with his foot and threw himself at me,” said Kelly, panting. “He was trying to bite my face. I pushed him and scratched him. I stabbed him with the glass – I had no choice. I couldn’t get him off. Where were you? You left me!”

  “You’re okay. You did the right thing. I’m sorry – I saw you following me out of the house.”

  Kelly began sobbing. “Is he dead? Did I kill him?”

  “Yes. He can’t harm you now. He can’t hurt anyone.”

  Any urgency I felt before had gone. I stepped outside and looked at the stars and watched as the distant flashing blue lights of the emergency services moved closer. Kelly got herself cleaned up as best she could and joined me outside again. The blanket was wrapped around her shoulders. She crushed out a cigarette and lit another.

  “So much for giving up,” she said, showing me the cigarette. “Perhaps today isn’t the day.”

  We laughed uneasily.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” I conceded.

  “He said his mentor was going to kill me and then kill you and your family. Did he hear voices in his head? Or did he have an accomplice?”

  I looked back at the cottage where, inside, lay the bloody, lifeless body of Baker. “No, he worked alone,” I said confidently, even though, somehow, I wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Kelly pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders. “Am I safe?”

  I thought about Alice, Faith and Monica at home and how I wished I could be there with them right that second. “You’re safe. We’re all safer. For whatever reason, he thought all this was a game. The game is over.”

  Kelly leaned in and put her head against me, and instinctively I put my arm around her. We watched the first police cars approaching up the long, uneven driveway to the cottage.

  “Thank you, James,” said Kelly.

  We looked out at the night as a million stars shone down.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Kelly Lyle was back from Cornwall and for now the police had completed their questioning. She dropped her travel bag in the hallway and picked up the post. She slipped off her heels and walked silently to the kitchen. She poured herself a large, cold white wine. The house was dark and quiet, which she welcomed after her recent experience. She had always felt at ease in the dark and was comfortable with solitude.

  She walked to her office and placed the bottle of wine and the envelopes on her oak desk. Having switched on a reading light, she settled into her chair and drank deeply from her wine glass. Unable to resist any longer, she turned in her chair to face the cabinet and slid open the door to reveal the safe. Spinning the dial, she hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed.

  The safe door opened to reveal the batch of envelopes she’d been saving. Kelly smiled to herself. She took the jiffy bag from the small pile and, with a knife from her drawer, sliced it open. She emptied the contents onto the desk and read out the two accompanying notes, one of which read,

  To our Mentor,

  I have achieved so much thanks to your guidance and wisdom and the help of the group.

  The investment has been worth every penny.

  Find enclosed a souvenir as requested.

  Carpe Diem, SB

  Kelly opened the back cover of The Great Gatsby and removed the USB stick. She picked up the silver Saint Christopher necklace. She held it up and then turned it over to read the inscription: “To Our Darling Katharine. Happy 18th Birthday. Love You Always, Mum and Dad.”

  Kelly lit a cigarette. She then set light to the note, placed the burning paper in a silver ashtray and watched as it burned out. She admired the necklace, enjoying the significance of what it meant and imagining what had taken place for it to have become a part of her collection.

  She finished her cigarette and her glass of wine and then walked over to a narrow floor-to-ceiling bookcase. She slid it to one side, revealing a second large safe set back into the wall. Originally designed for a bank, the safe had been modified to Kelly’s specifications. It was around two metres high and two metres wide. She opened it to reveal shelves, hooks and drawers, which had been installed along with power and spotlights.

  Kelly opened one of the display drawers and placed the Saint Christopher necklace on the black velvet surface.

  “Perfect. Thank you, Mr Baker.” She stood back to take in the vastness of her collection. The safe was full of rings, bracelets, watches, earrings, necklaces, and even a gold tooth, souvenirs all sent to her by appreciative clients, students and admirers from all around the world.

  “I’m going to need a bigger vault,” she mused. “Perhaps a walk-in vault. This is almost as much fun as collecting my own souvenirs. Almost.”

  Smiling reflectively, Kelly ‘The Mentor’ Lyle decided it would soon be time for a new game of cat and mouse.

  Detective James Hardy would perhaps fare better than her previous adversaries.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  I felt I had come up for air and was finally able to breathe again. Once more, I could focus on what mattered most to me – my family.

  Being surrounded by so much love, I had to ask myself how I was able to get so lost in the nightmares that crept into my life. I could only assume that it was precisely because I had this lifeline that I could descend to the depths I often had to. Monsters live in dark places, and to catch them you can’t be afraid of the dark.

  It was Sunday, and my home was filled with music, conversation, laughter and the smell of great British home cooking. Monica and Mum were working together on preparing roast lamb with garlic and herbs, minted new potatoes and an impressive array of summer vegetables. Having offered to help, I didn’t need to be a detective to work out my woeful culinary skills weren’t required. Instead, I was informed the meal was almost ready and I should go make myself useful by helping Dad wrangle Alice and Faith to the table – with washed hands.

  I watched as Dad chased the girls from room to room. In his usual comic manner, he was more interested in making them squeal with delight, repeatedly hiding and jumping out on them, than actually getting them to the table. Eventually he ran out of puff, and when the girls approached to check he was okay, he grabbed them and carried them off for hand washing.

  The house phone began to ring. Mum looked at me in a way that said, “I know you’re going to answer it and we both know you shouldn’t.” I hesitated for a moment and then picked up the receiver.

  “James Hardy,” I said.

  “Detective Hardy. Sorry to intrude. I know how precious family time is to you,” a woman’s voice said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Forgotten me already, James?” the voiced teased. “Even after our romantic evening under the stars? You remember our time together outside the little Cornish cottage, don’t you? You and I sat huddled together waiting for the emergency services while Simon Baker’s lifeless and bloody corpse grew cold. You know, I could so easily have ended you there, and to all the world it would have looked as though you were just one more casualty of Mr Baker.”

  “Kelly Lyle?” I asked. My mind raced trying to fit the pieces together. “I don’t understand.”

  “Does Kelly ‘The
Mentor’ Lyle help you? Goodness me, I hope you’re going to be smarter than this when we start our games. I was worried Simon Baker had given the game away, but it appears you’re still clueless.”

  “What do you want?” My mouth felt dry.

  “So glad you asked. Though you could sound a little more excited. I mean, just for you, I have decided to play again sooner than I had anticipated. You should be flattered. Before we start, however, it is important you understand the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “Jamie, I am so glad you asked. The rules are simple – there are no rules. There are no limits to which I will not go. Nothing and nobody is beyond my reach, and I don’t play fair. You must understand I expect you to fail at stopping me. During the course of our adventure together, innocent people will get hurt and consequentially die. We’ll embark on our journey very soon, but right now I don’t want to give too much away and spoil any surprises. I know you have a full house, so I’ll let you get back to your family. Give Monica and the girls a kiss from me. I’ll be thinking of you.” With a click, the phone went dead.

  Alice and Faith ran past me and hid behind the sofa. Dad was pretending he couldn’t see them.

  “Everything all right, son?” He could see from my expression things were far from all right. I stared at the phone for a moment, blew out a breath and smiled gamely. “How about you help me get those two little rascals to the dinner table before we’re all in trouble with your mother?” Dad said. “They must be hiding around here somewhere.”

  With a loud, playful roar, I turned and reached out to grab Alice. Dad rounded the sofa and approached from the other end to snare Faith. It wasn’t long before Dad and I had the girls cornered.

  “It’s ready! Dinner is on the table,” called Monica.

  And just like that, family life resumed. For the time being, at least.