by Jay Gill
Listening to Cutler, I was finding it difficult to understand whether he was insane or incredibly intelligent. Either way, he was showing no sign of repentance or regret.
“How about the people you killed? At least twenty young women, that we know of. Are you sorry about that? The lives you destroyed? The suffering you inflicted on them and their families? It would be a good thing if you could work with us to give those families closure. Perhaps it would help you too.”
Cutler shifted in his seat and looked down at the table between us. He shrugged as though he was nothing more than a naughty schoolboy in front of the headteacher.
I couldn’t help feeling anger at his apparent lack of interest.
“What does that mean? Do you feel any kind of pity? Your victims had lives, dreams, futures. Do you understand that?”
“Of course I do. What do you think I am?” Cutler looked annoyed.
“You don’t want me to answer that.” I shifted in my seat and winced from a shooting pain.
He tilted his head. He saw my discomfort in my face and watched me trying to get comfortable.
“You must be in agony. The pain has clouded your judgement.”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“We could have had a far more productive conversation if you weren’t sitting there like a bear with a sore head. Your approach is all wrong. There’s no psychology behind your questioning. You know it and I know it. You know you should be talking to me like you understand me, like you want to help me. You haven’t asked me one question about my childhood, my parents, my schooling, my first love, my sexual preferences. Instead, your discomfort and pain are causing your mind to work like a blunt instrument.
“You forget what makes you such a great detective. You’re behaving like all the others. I find that very disappointing. I suppose we can talk again when you’re feeling better. After all, I owe you that much, seeing as how I am the creator of your pain.” Cutler looked at his hands and rubbed his fingers together.
“Perhaps I have no interest in the inner workings of your depraved mind.”
“Now, now, James. If that were true, we wouldn’t be having this little chat. I’m curious. Do you think you caught me because you’re smarter than me?”
“I never assume I’m smarter. I just know you have disadvantages.”
“Disadvantages?”
“Whatever drives you to do the sick shit you do will sooner or later cause you to set aside caution.”
Cutler smiled. “Good, James. That’s better. In time we’ll have some proper discourse. Maybe you are, after all, someone I can open up to.”
“Are you going to tell us everything? We need you to make a formal statement. It will bring peace to a lot of families. It’s the right thing to do.”
The pain was getting to be too much, and I wanted to leave. I shouldn’t have visited him. It was too early, and all I was doing was amusing him. I had been foolish thinking I could appeal to his humanity by simply asking for his help. I knew from experience it didn’t work that way with creatures like Cutler. It was time for me to go. Right now, I was doing more harm than good.
Cutler stared at me. His dull and impassive eyes became ferocious. There were two sides to this monster, and here at last was the Angel Killer. “You’re talking like I’ve finished. I haven’t finished. I realise now my feelings for my family held me back. I no longer have that. . . that handicap. I’ve been released. Think caterpillar. Think butterfly.”
“You are finished. If you haven’t already figured it out, then I’ll spell it out for you: your future is life without parole. Your future looks like bars, brick and one hour’s exercise a day. Instead of caterpillar and butterfly, think rat and trap.”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe not.” Cutler leaned forward, his eyes searing into mine. He was the same man, but somehow he’d grown. He looked bigger, stronger, more self-assured. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but I’ve seen the future. It looks very different to your version. Things look very bleak for you, Hardy. In my version your hands are covered in the blood of your children. I see you holding the lifeless bodies of your angels in your arms. I’m just getting started. You, James Hardy, helped me realise my full potential. Not everyone gets that opportunity. I want to thank you.”
“So you think you’re just going to flutter out of here?” Cutler said nothing. He simply stared back. “I’ve put smarter and more dangerous men than you behind these walls. Some have said similar things to me. All are still residing at Her Majesty’s pleasure.” I got up to leave and indicated as much to the guard. I’d had enough of this prick’s bullshit for one day.
“Maybe so. But how many were put here by choice?” said Cutler with a smug grin. “Do you really think I went undetected all those years without a little help and a lot of planning?”
I stopped in my tracks, turned and looked at him. I didn’t want to think it, and I couldn’t ask. Was he another disciple of The Mentor? I hadn’t heard from Kelly Lyle, The Mentor, since a case involving the serial killer Simon Baker. But I felt like she was in the room now, and this was her way of reaching out to me. Letting me know she hadn’t forgotten me.
The prison guard let me out, and I watched as Cutler was walked back to his cell. He could see I understood. He winked at me, nodded and mouthed, “Angels.”
He laughed to himself and got moved on by the prison guard.
Chapter Sixty-Five
I was standing in a room full of packing boxes. The move had gone well even though I was still recuperating before returning to work in my new role. The slow speed of recovery was frustrating, and I was being a real grump to live with.
In reality, Monica had dealt with the move, and until recently I’d felt pretty useless and miserable with my lack of mobility.
On the positive side, I’d been able to spend a lot of time with her and the girls. They were settling in well and enjoying all the attention that came with being the new girls in the school. The media attention that the Angel Killer had attracted had also given them the status of having a hero dad, and, from what I could tell, they were cashing in on that big time.
“They’re here,” shouted Alice and Faith. “Nana and Granddad are here.” They ran past me, almost knocking me over.
I put my good arm around Monica’s waist and pulled her to me. I kissed her lips then repeatedly kissed her neck. My hand began to wander.
“Enough of that, James Hardy,” said Monica. “I want you to behave while your parents are here. We can play catch-up once they’ve gone.”
“In that case I’m going straight out there now and suggesting they only stay for a cuppa. I’ll come up with something good. I’ll make it sound genuine.” I put up my hand, pretending to be getting their attention.
“Don’t you dare. You’re such an idiot. Come on.”
“I love you,” I said and kissed her again.
“I love you too. Now let’s get out there and welcome them.”
Monica pushed me gently, taking care not to hurt my shoulder. I leaned back as though I were reluctant. In fact, I was keen to show my parents around and let them see how happy we all were.
With my injury, the unpacking had been slow. The house was still a mess, and there was a lot that would have to wait. We had time, though; we had years to get things just how we wanted them. This was our new family home; so long as we had the essentials, we’d be okay.
Monica and I grabbed our phones and prepared them for photos and video. There was one essential part of our new family home that we both agreed was necessary, and it had arrived with Mum and Dad. They waited until we were ready, and then Mum asked the girls to close their eyes while Dad opened the back door to the car and lifted out a travel box.
“Daddy and Monica have asked us to bring you a new friend,” she said to the girls. “She’s very little, so you must be gentle,” said Mum. She took the girls by the hands. “No peeking. Don’t look until I say so. Sit here on the grass.” The girls sat down, and D
ad put the wriggling bundle down between them. It was a golden Labrador.
“You can open your eyes now,” said Mum.
“A puppy!” cried Alice. “Whose is she? Is she for us?”
Faith’s eyes were shining. She reached over, let the puppy sniff her fingers, then stroked her gently. “She’s so cute. Is she ours? Daddy, is she ours?” said Faith softly, as though she hardly dared to breathe.
“Yes, she’s yours. So long as you promise to clean up after her. Don’t let her chew our stuff. Give her plenty of exercise. All the things you said you’d do. Deal?”
“Deal. Does she have a name?”
“No, not yet,” said Monica. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? We’ll have to think of a name that suits her.”
We all gave the new member of the family a stroke then took her indoors to give her some space to explore her new home.
After giving Mum and Dad a tour of the house, we sat down to lunch. The puppy was in her crate in the girls’ room, fast asleep. It had been hard to tear them away from her.
“How are you healing up?” asked Dad.
“It’s okay. A few shooting pains and I ache a bit at night, but it’s healing well. I was lucky.”
“Lucky is the right word,” said Mum. “You’re lucky that psychopath didn’t kill you. I don’t know what it is about you, your brother and your father that makes you think you need to be heroes.”
“Well, I guess all that’s behind me now. Here in sleepy Dorset I’ll be safe and sound. No more chasing psychopaths around the streets of London.”
Monica couldn’t help herself. “The most drama you’ll have from now on will most likely be judging marmalades and signing autographs at the school’s summer fete. He’s something of a celebrity, you know,” she said conspiratorially to Mum. “Word’s got out about the big-shot detective chief inspector from London. We’re concerned he won’t be able to walk the streets without having to sign autographs every two minutes.” She reached over and affectionately messed up my hair.
“That’s all the drama I need,” I said, playfully pushing her hand away. “No more chasing killers. I’ll leave that to younger detectives. My role in the future will be nothing more than advisory.”
“We’ll see,” said Mum. She didn’t look at all convinced. “I just hope you keep your word. For everyone’s sake.”
In truth, my concerns were far from funny. It was going to be difficult to walk away, but I had to for my family. I hoped the demons from my past would allow me to fade into the background. I was worried my past would catch up with me and bring all of my troubled history to Dorset.
I knew there were those from my past who seemed to think they had unfinished business. The Mentor, a female serial killer I’d encountered, still liked to check in from time to time and let me know she hadn’t forgotten me. Most recently, she’d sent me a Get Well Soon card from Venice. Enclosed were some graphic photos of a young man she’d stabbed to death and posed with arms crossed, presumably in some sick homage to the Angel Killer. I’d bagged the card as evidence and arranged for it to be sent to the Italian detective heading the investigation into the young man’s disappearance. I hoped that was the end of it, but deep down I felt uneasy.
Before the next chapter in my life began, I wanted to spend as much time as possible enjoying and exploring my new home. Life from now on would be less intense than my years at Scotland Yard. I was ready for a fresh challenge and a new start.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Sunday morning, and I was cooking breakfast for everyone. The house was bright and the morning sun was shining through the windows and warming the house. The smell of a traditional English breakfast drew everyone to the kitchen. Local sausages and bacon, fresh eggs, mushrooms, grilled tomato and beans and thick slices of freshly baked white bread were almost ready to be served up.
Perhaps it was the glow and energy from the morning sunshine, or the fresh sea air, or maybe it was just that life was simply wonderful right now – whatever the reason, we were all in good spirits.
Alice and Faith were showing Mum and Dad the trick they had taught Sandy, which was the name the girls had given the puppy for the time being, although it seemed to change by the hour. The trick appeared to consist of Faith holding Sandy’s bottom down while Alice instructed her to sit. Then at the correct moment, Faith would release Sandy and Alice would instruct her to come. I made a mental note to look into puppy training classes on Monday.
Monica had been out for an early-morning run; she had been out almost every morning since we’d arrived and was enjoying discovering new routes.
“I’m all showered and changed,” she said as she appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Can I do anything? You look like you have it all under control.”
“You wouldn’t have said that if you’d heard him earlier trying to figure out how to turn the oven on. I really wonder how he manages to solve complex investigations when he can’t figure out an oven,” said Mum.
Dad tried to back me up. “You know, I think it’s his injury. He’s still a little off his game. It’s probably the painkillers.”
Everyone laughed; that sound was good to hear.
“Don’t give me that,” Mum retorted. “You’re just as bad. I think it’s men. If it’s not a challenge or game or toy, they’re not interested. They’re little boys from the day they’re born until the day they die.”
“So how do you account for this culinary masterpiece I’m cooking up?” I said.
“Maybe we should reserve judgement until after we taste it,” said Monica. She gave me a wink and a kiss on the cheek. “So, who’s up for a beach walk after breakfast?” she asked.
“Sounds lovely,” said Mum.
“We’ll need to get going just after lunch,” said Dad. “The traffic could be heavy this afternoon. The A31 can get busy, from what I’ve heard. Lots of people heading back home after a weekend away.”
The phone in the hall started ringing, and I left Monica and Dad to serve up the breakfast while I took the call. “James Hardy speaking.”
“Can I speak to Detective Chief Inspector James Hardy, please?”
“This is James Hardy. I’m retired. I’m no longer a DCI.” I felt a pang of sorrow as I said it.
“Hullo, sir. Sorry to call you at home. This is Detective Sergeant Emma Cotton. I know it’s not strictly protocol, but I thought I should call you.”
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“A body has been found, sir. It’s very likely murder.”
“I need to stop you there, Sergeant. I’m no longer—” My mind was racing and a million questions and worries were on the tip of my tongue. I could feel the Scotland Yard detective in me resurfacing.
Sergeant Cotton continued without pause, “He’s tied to Bournemouth Pier. It looks like he was . . . mutilated. Some children spotted him when the tide went out.”
“Have you secured the crime scene?”
“Yes, sir. There’s another thing you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“There was a similar death a few weeks ago.” I could hear the sergeant’s voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have called. It’s just I know you’ve worked some very big homicide investigations. And, well – would you take a look, sir?”
I said nothing for a few seconds while I weighed up what I should do.
“I’ll come take a look, Sergeant. I’ll be right there.” I hesitated, as I realised I didn’t know how to get there. For the first time, I felt like a fish out of water. “Where are you, Sergeant?”
“I’m at the scene, sir. But ask for Detective Superintendent Calvin Etheridge. He’s in charge of the investigation.”
“Good. It would be best if you could send someone to pick me up and take me to the scene. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
I turned around to see I was alone in the house. Everyone had stepped outside to give me privacy. I could see them eating on the patio. I ran upstairs and changed into my suit. I picked out a tie,
then I decided I’d leave it off.
I was the new boy in town. For a moment I felt nervous. Sorry to say, I also felt excited. Sorry someone that had died, but exhilarated that I was here to catch the bastard who’d done it.
And I would. The killer hadn’t counted on the big shot from Scotland Yard being in town to investigate. Big mistake. A very big mistake.
Hard Truth
Chapter One
Kelly Lyle swam a final length of the pool and climbed out. It was late evening, and the heat from the Italian sun felt exhilarating on her naked body.
The villa, with its mountainous backdrop, overlooked Lake Garda. Lyle stood for a moment to take in the warmth of the evening and gaze down at the shimmering lake. The scent of lemon carried on the fresh mountain air. This was currently her favourite retreat. It had many benefits besides its beauty, not least of which was its seclusion.
Leaving her robe and shoes on a recliner, she crossed the warm tiles and entered the rear of the house through large sliding doors.
She scooped crushed ice into a chilled glass and added gin and tonic. Sipping her drink, she sat for a while watching Carlo as he slept. Lyle let her eyes wander over his firm, tanned body. She smiled at the thought of their many evenings together.
His conversation was interesting and the food he’d cooked her had always been exceptional. He was also a very thoughtful and attentive lover.
It was a shame their time together had to end so abruptly, but it was important she return to England and get her plans underway.
Drink in hand, Lyle walked over to the sleeping Carlo. Drugged, gagged and bound to a dining chair, his body slumped forward. Lyle lifted his head and kissed his eyes.
“Carlo. Carlo, my prince, it’s time to wake up.”
She took some ice from her glass and ran it over his broad, tanned shoulders. “Sveglia, sveglia, sorgi e splendi!” she said. “Wakey, wakey, Carlo.”
