DCI James Hardy Series Boxset

by Jay Gill

  “Of course. Just one last thing,” said Cutler. He turned to the door again, but instead of opening it he flicked the latch to lock it and then slowly and carefully slid the chain across. He turned back to Stacy and immediately grabbed her by the throat. He showed her the scalpel. His transformation from charming to monster happened in a flash. “There’s something I need you to do for me.”

  Stacy’s wide eyes showed him she understood. She understood all too well.

  “Don’t scream. Don’t you dare scream. Do you understand?” He could see she was on the verge of fighting back, but, like all the others, she hoped that by obeying him she would save herself.

  Cutler pressed the blade to her soft neck and carefully stroked it up and down. “You’re going to take me to the bedroom.”

  Stacy gave out a loud sob.

  “You scream or resist and I will cut your face to pieces.” Just like I did to your precious Peter.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Stacy’s struggling was pointless, and Cutler ignored it. He would take them off later, once she was too weak to make a sound, but for now the mouthful of cotton and the strip of heavy-duty tape across her face would stifle her screams. He stroked her hair and then, pulling her close, pressed the blade just below her eye. He didn’t cut her. He would never cut her face. She didn’t know that, of course, and he only did it to ensure she understood he was serious.

  He was happy with how things were going. He’d had to improvise, as she had no headboard on the bed for him to cuff her to. Instead, she was cuffed with her hands behind her back and her ankles tied. He was good at thinking on the spot; he had to be. He certainly didn’t want Stacy thinking this was amateur hour.

  He nodded at her legs, which were bound together. “I’m not a piece of shit rapist,” he told her.

  That always seemed to calm them down a little. He didn’t understand why. When a psychopath was waving a blade in your face, how was knowing you weren’t going to be raped any kind of relief?

  “You need to know I won’t hurt you unless I have to. To me, you’re very special. I wouldn’t dream of hurting you in that way. Blink if you understand.” Stacy blinked twice and tried to nod. “Good girl. Just do exactly as I say. If you do that, then I promise you won’t end up the same way as little Peter Rabbit. Understand?”

  Stacy’s eyes fixed on his.

  “Goodness me, the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? Yes, that was me. I am sorry about little Peter. He was a first for me. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it, but because of you I had to try. In the end, it was easier than I imagined. I suppose you could say every day’s a school day.” He lifted a pillow and held it over her face. Ignoring her moaning and violent thrusting movements, he pressed down hard. “It does demonstrate,” he continued, “that I went to extraordinary lengths for you. You should be flattered.”

  He was over her now and he pushed down harder with the pillow. “Good girl. Let it go. Calm yourself. Relax. Don’t fight it.” As Stacy’s movements began to weaken, he took the scalpel and ran it across her neck, opening her carotid artery. He took away the pillow so he could watch. She was fading fast.

  Cutler ran to the kitchen and grabbed a stool. He needed to be quick. He placed it next to the bed and observed. When he was sure she was almost gone he set to work. He removed the tape, uncuffed her wrists, untied her legs. Using her own hairbrush, he brushed her smooth, dark hair. Finally, he tidied her clothes and placed her hands across her chest. Satisfied, he sat back down to watch her final moments.

  “I miss you, Amanda. I really miss you, sis,” he said softly. “There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think of you.” Cutler reached out and put a hand on the bed. “Guess how old you’d be now? Can you guess? Nearly forty-two; can you believe that? You’d be a big girl, probably a mother, definitely a mother. All grown up. You’d have been a great mummy.

  “You’re still my guardian angel, frozen in time. You know that, don’t you? I’m still your pirate. I’ll always be your pirate.

  “I miss you so much. I’ve got no one now. I want you back. I need my big sister back.”

  Cutler began to cry uncontrollably, his body convulsing as he sobbed. Fat tears rolled down his face. He wiped away the tears and snot with his arm.

  “Now look what you made me do,” he laughed tearfully. “Big sister makes little brother cry. Nothing new there, I suppose. I’ll stay for a little while longer, but I had better go soon.”

  After an hour, he collected his things and left, promising his sister he’d see her again soon, really soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My heart sank when I saw Stacy DiMarco. I told myself we should have been able to prevent this. Somehow, we should have seen it coming. I was probably wrong on both counts, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Another young woman murdered. Same MO. This wasn’t a copycat killing: it had to be the same psycho, as earlier crime scene details had not been made public.

  I had no idea how her boyfriend’s murder was related to her own, but I knew it had to be. Once more, I had more questions than answers. The sad truth was that Stacy’s death would bring us closer to catching whoever did this to her.

  Rayner was with me, and we stepped aside to give Hamilton room.

  “Another sweet angel. Poor baby. Look at what he did.” Hamilton looked over at the pair of us and gave a sad smile. Quietly, for only us to hear, she whispered. “We need to stop this man. And we need to do it fast. You hear me?”

  I nodded and began to look around, careful not to get in her way. Even at this early stage I could see plenty of similarities between this scene and Stephanie Walker’s. Same attention to detail. Same cause of death. Body left the same way, with hands clasped across the chest. Hair brushed and an aura of serenity around the victim. Same impressions on the carpet where he must have sat.

  My eyes moved to the kitchen, where I could see the stool he must have used. It was back in place, set neatly beside the small table.

  My eyes were drawn to a fresh bouquet of flowers on Stacy’s coffee table. They looked out of place. I wandered over and read the small card attached to them.

  So sorry to hear of Peter’s demise. With love from all at Cassley Shoes.

  I read the card again. “Demise” seemed an odd choice of word. I looked around. They were the only flowers in the room.

  “Nice flowers,” said Rayner, appearing behind me.

  “Yes. I guess she worked there.” I placed the card in an evidence bag and handed it to him. “I’ll check with uniform. They’ll know from when they spoke to her about her boyfriend’s death.”

  “They were quick off the mark.”

  “Who?”

  “Cassley Shoes. It takes most companies an age to get organised when there’s a bereavement.”

  I agreed. “They got here with flowers in twenty-four hours. So who brought them? There’s no name on the card.” I went over to the bin and pulled out the wrapping. “These are from Sainsbury’s supermarket. Let’s find out where the nearest one is. Then we need to speak to Stacy’s boss and colleagues and see if we can discover who brought these flowers.

  “Whoever it is, they’re likely to be the last person to have seen her alive.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rayner and I stood outside the Uxbridge branch of Cassley Shoes. The air was refreshing, and the morning sun felt warm on my back. A young man in a white shirt, black skinny trousers and highly polished black shoes unlocked the floor-to-ceiling glass doors.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. You’re keen. Welcome to Cassley Shoes,” he said with a genuine smile. “My name’s Anthony. Can I help you with anything in particular, or are you just here to browse?”

  We showed our warrant cards and asked for the shop manager.

  “She’s not here today, inspectors. If you don’t mind waiting a little while, you can speak to our regional manager.” He looked at his watch. “Michael – Mr Cutler, I mean – should be here very soon.”


  Anthony was very relaxed and very attentive.

  “We’ll wait, thank you. Why is the manager away?” asked Rayner.

  “She’s not herself this morning. Seems she’s a little too grief-stricken.” His face suggested he wasn’t convinced. “I guess you’re here about Stacy and Peter? We’re all in shock. I know I am. I can’t stop thinking about it. Poor babe. I loved Stace.” Anthony pressed the corner of his eye. “Heart of gold she had. Heart of gold. Soon as we met, we were like brother and sister. It was like I’d known her forever. For. Ever. I told her everything; I do that sometimes. I’m a sharer. You know what I mean? She was so easy to talk to. Such a great listener. I knew I could trust her. Instantly. I mean, I could tell her anything. Anything. She knew my whole life the first day we met.”

  I didn’t doubt that for a second.

  “Peter I only met once or twice, here at the shop, and he seemed nice. They seemed happy together, bless them.

  “Bianca, our manager, who isn’t here, as I said” – he touched his hairline in a way that indicated his frustration – “seems to have taken it really badly. She’s quite fragile, very sensitive. I don’t want to sound bitchy, but with her, every cold is flu. Headaches are always a brain tumour. And when she gets her monthly, well, oh my God, you can just forget it.”

  Deciding he needed to spell it out to us, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “She hardly knew Stacy. She’s using what happened to her as yet another excuse for a few days off.” He pulled a face to show his distaste. “But you didn’t hear that from me.” He lightly touched Rayner’s arm and smiled at us warmly. “I don’t want people thinking I’m some sort of blabbermouth.”

  We asked Anthony when he had last seen Stacy, his whereabouts at the time of her murder and whether he thought Stacy had had any personal problems.

  When pressed, it turned out he knew very little about Stacy’s own personal life. Unfortunately for us, Anthony was much more of a sharer than a listener.

  Anthony showed us to the staff area at the back of the stock room and then left us so he could assist customers.

  A few minutes later we heard Anthony and a second voice. Then a man I guessed to be the regional manager entered the stock room. He was well-turned out in a dark suit and a Cassley Shoes tie. Friendly enough, but from the look on his face not best pleased to see us. Rayner and I showed him our warrant cards.

  “Are you Mr Michael Cutler?” I asked him.

  “For my sins, yes. Michael Cutler, regional manager for Cassley Shoes. Let me just put my stuff down and I’ll be right with you. I’m a little all over the place at the moment, as you might imagine. But we muddle through, don’t we? Have you been offered a coffee or tea?”

  “We’re okay, thank you. But you carry on. We’re here to ask you about Stacy DiMarco and Peter Rice, her boyfriend.”

  I followed Cutler into the small kitchen staff room where he filled the kettle and switched it on.

  “Yes, inspector. Terrible what happened. Terrifying, in fact. It’s shaken us all up. Hard to believe something like that could happen to one of the family.”

  “Family?”

  Cutler was nervous, and he tucked his hands in his pockets then took them out and tried to look relaxed by leaning against the kitchen worktop. He was finding it hard to make eye contact. I tried to put him at ease so he’d open up.

  “Family?” I asked again.

  Cutler smiled and instantly became more animated. “The Cassley Shoes family. Mr Henry Frederick Cassley established the company in 1857, and it’s still a family-owned business to this day. We have seventy-two stores across UK. Sixteen stores across Europe, with plans to open more over the next five years. The shoes are still hand finished in the UK. At head office, there is a collection of original shoe designs by Mr Cassley. Unlike most companies, employees here are referred to as family. We’re not staff, we’re family. Stacy was family, and that means we’re all grieving.”

  Rayner smiled to himself and began to look around. Cutler’s eyes started following him, and I did my best to bring his attention back to my questions.

  “You sound proud of being a part of the Cassley Shoes company. Did you know Stacy well? Meet her yourself, I mean? Being a regional manager, you must be responsible for a lot of staff – a lot of the Cassley family, I should say.”

  “I met Stacy once or twice. Her boyfriend.. .” He frowned, thinking. “I may have seen him, but I don’t really remember. I was here the day before Stacy died. She was always so great with the customers, very attentive. From what I could tell she was a good member of the family, worked well with everyone. Seemed sweet-natured.”

  “Did she say anything that might indicate she was in any kind of trouble? Or did Peter, for that matter? Or do you think anything was worrying her?”

  Cutler looked past me at Anthony, who had come back into the stock room.

  “I wouldn’t really hear about that sort of thing. And I didn’t really speak to anyone that day. You see, I visit each store about every two weeks. Some stores I visit more than others. If sales are down, for example, I might visit and help figure out what’s happening. Or if, like today, they’re short staffed, then I’ll offer my assistance. We all pull together.

  “I do remember the last time I was here I was really up against it – in terms of time, I mean. I was keen to get back home. I have two young boys, so I like to get home as early as I can and help my wife. I was here to look at sales figures, and that’s what I did. I didn’t have time to chat to anyone. Of course, now I wish I had.”

  I’d hoped I might learn something of significance, but this was feeling increasingly like a dead end. “Have you heard anything since? Something of concern that might help the investigation?”

  “No, can’t say I have.” Cutler glanced at his watch.

  “What about her boyfriend, Peter Rice? Anything you’ve heard that might prove useful?”

  “No. But if I hear anything, I will let you know. Do you think she was killed because Peter was mixed up in something? I heard he was attacked in the street. Shot in a gangland-style execution. Some sort of gang retaliation killing. That he was mixed up with selling drugs. That’s the rumour.”

  “Right now, we’re simply working on building a picture of what happened to them. Do you have contact details for Bianca and all the staff here? I need to arrange for officers to speak to everyone. Their home addresses and telephone numbers, please.”

  Cutler disappeared for a few moments. When he returned he handed me a printout. “Please be careful with this. It is personal information.”

  “We will,” said Rayner. “Thank you for your time.”

  As we prepared to leave, I turned back to Cutler. “One last thing,” I said. “A bouquet of flowers was in Stacy’s flat. They were from Cassley Shoes.” I watched him closely, but he gave no glimmer of recognition. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “No. They probably came straight from head office. Or, maybe, a member of staff here organised it. It’s the sort of thing the company is really good at – looking out for each other, I mean. Talking of which, should we be worried? Is there any chance the staff here are in danger?”

  Rayner hastened to reassure him. “We don’t think so. This is very likely an isolated incident.”

  Cutler looked unconvinced.

  Rayner went on. “I’ll arrange for a trained officer to go through some safety precautions with your staff here if that will put your mind at rest.”

  Cutler smiled and looked pleased. “That would be extremely useful. Thank you. And perhaps, as it goes on, you could also keep me informed on how the investigation is developing? I can then allay any fears the family here have.” Cutler gestured towards the staff members hovering around the entrance to the stock room.

  I could feel Rayner looking at me.

  “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions,” I said. For some reason I felt I should say more. “When investigations are ongoing, there isn’t a lot we can share
. Sharing information, even with the best of intentions, can jeopardise a case. I’m sure you understand. Please remain vigilant, and if anything else comes to mind, feel free to contact me. You’ve been very helpful. Thank you for your time. We can show ourselves out.”

  Rayner whispered to me as we approached my parked car. “See how Cutler perked up as soon as he thought he might get some insider information? Bloody busybody. He’s one of those trumped-up little men who’s full of self-importance. He’s probably in there right now telling staff he’s working closely with the police and that it’s all very hush-hush.”

  “Give the guy a break,” I said. “I’ll admit he was a little eager, but I prefer that to someone who just clams up and says nothing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Norton swung the Jaguar into the driveway. He eased the car towards the garage and waited a few moments as the door slowly opened. The last few days had been harder than he’d anticipated; the deaths had put everyone on edge. If years in government had taught him anything, it was that what could seem like an insurmountable problem one day could quickly turn into nothing more than a mild irritation the next. Often all that was needed was a new problem. Some bad news or a salacious scandal could make any current problem old news. And right now, that just wouldn’t do.

  Norton parked up then ducked under the garage door as it closed. He stood on his driveway breathing in the refreshing cold night air. Time for a last cigarette of the day, something that had become something of a ritual. A precious moment of solitude, accompanied by moonlit lawns and near silence.

  As he cupped his hands to light the cigarette, he sensed movement behind him. His heart began to race. He instinctively stepped back and scanned the shadows. He strained his eyes to search the darkness for whatever he’d felt. Had he imagined it? At first, he saw nothing. Then out of the shadows, with what appeared to be a swagger, came the cat.