DCI James Hardy Series Boxset

by Jay Gill

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I’ve been expecting you,” I said without looking up. “I’m sorry to hear about Etheridge. I liked him.” Cotton’s bright eyes fixed on mine, and I wondered what she was thinking. Did she blame me for Etheridge’s death? If she did, I wouldn’t entirely blame her. I know I blamed myself more than a little.

  Etheridge and I had spoken a lot over the last few months, and I’d got to know him well. He was going through a rough patch. As well as the multiple-murder investigation, which was chewing away at him, he’d opened up about his marriage break-up and his financial circumstances, which weren’t great due to a house he’d only partially built and no longer had any passion for completing. Somehow, we always managed to find some light during our conversations together. We laughed, told stories and filled his bin with a considerable number of empty beer bottles.

  He’d also talked about the rising star in his department, who stood beside me now. He told me Cotton was going to be a great detective. She was sharp, dedicated, with instincts that couldn’t be taught and that all the best detectives had.

  Cotton was unaware of our friendship. Etheridge had asked I keep our conversations private, and I saw no reason to betray that trust now. If anyone asked, we were merely two seasoned homicide detectives letting off steam and throwing around theories. I was going to miss him, and I shuddered when I thought about his final moments. No one should go out like that.

  “You heard? He was well liked,” said Cotton. “This has to stop.”

  I shook the sand off a tartan picnic blanket, folded it and passed it to her. I piled a few things on top, then put a beach chair under each arm and closed the boot. I tucked a pink baseball cap under my chin, picked up a canvas bag I’d loaded with buckets and spades and shut the car door with my backside. “You had better come in.”

  “You’re with your family. I don’t want to intrude,” said Cotton. She knew how ridiculous that sounded. I didn’t reply. She followed me into the house.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her taking in the chaos of the Hardy family home. The house was full of noise and energy, the way I liked it. With two children, their friends, a crazy dog, grandparents and neighbours in and out, there was always some excitement. Never knowing what might happen next was part of the fun and reminded me of my own childhood home.

  Upstairs I could hear Alice and Faith arguing about who was going to shower first. All the while, I could hear the shower running – by the time the decision was made, there would be no hot water left.

  Monica was also upstairs trying to calm the situation while searching for a new bottle of shampoo. I heard her telling Faith that Sandy was a dog and wasn’t allowed in the shower with her. In fact, Sandy shouldn’t have been upstairs at all.

  “Take a seat,” I said. “Let me sort a few things out and then we can talk.” I loaded the washing machine with beach towels. In the kitchen sink, I rinsed sand off the girls’ beach shoes. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”

  I finished going through the beach bag and went outside the back door. I needed a few minutes to think. It was crunch time. I opened and closed the utility room door to pretend I was doing something out there. I came back into the kitchen and went upstairs to speak to Monica.

  As I came back down the stairs, Cotton was typing a message on her phone. I could see she was pretending she hadn’t been trying to hear our conversation, which had been conducted in hushed whispers.

  “Do you have any more case files with you? I want to see everything,” I told her.

  I looked back up the stairs to where Monica stood. She winked, tossed her hair and carried on as though nothing had changed.

  Everything had changed.

  Cotton had to fight back a huge grin. “Not with me. I can organise that.”

  “Good. Follow me. I have an office out back. You can bring me up to speed. Are you sure you’ve eaten? How about a drink? Tea? Coffee? I have some cold beers in the office fridge.”

  “Cold beer sounds good.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “First, I want you to understand my talking to you doesn’t mean I’m involved in this investigation. If I decide to get involved, and I’m not saying I will, I’ll re-examine case files and present my findings. I’ll offer my thoughts, based on my experience, for your consideration.”

  Cotton nodded.

  “If it’s critical to the investigation, I’ll sit in on interviews,” I said.

  Cotton let me talk.

  “I promised my daughters and Monica and myself I was done with it all. I have no desire to return to active duty.”

  Cotton said, “I understand. Completely.”

  I scratched the back of my head and could feel sand in my hair. I thought about Etheridge. “That said, if I have a lead that’s worth following up, I’ll check it out. I want to be able to do that. You’ll need to get that authorised.”

  Cotton made an almost inaudible ‘Uh-huh’ that suggested she didn’t believe this conversation was purely theoretical. Maybe she was right. I knew all too well where all this was headed. Why else would I have let her into my office? Why else did I spend so many hours reviewing case files and pretending I didn’t? The truth was, I was hooked from the moment I saw the first body under the pier.

  Cotton said, “If we do it, we can do it on your terms. I’d just appreciate you looking over the files, that’s all. Let me know what you think. You can tell me what I missed.”

  I watched as her hungry eyes took in the details of the room. She had the look of a child who’d just entered a magical toy shop. She didn’t know where to look first and wanted to examine everything. She pointed to a photo pinned to a map of Greater London I had fastened to a wall. “Are you working on a case? Is that your late wife?”

  I closed a file on my desk and put it away in a filing cabinet. “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll listen to what you have to say, and then you can leave. I’ll tell you exactly what I told Etheridge: I’ve given more than my share to policing. I’ve lost too much already. I can’t lose any more.” I felt bad about what had happened to Etheridge, but it changed nothing. It only underlined my resolve to stay away from active police work.

  “You’ve lost too much? What about Etheridge? He’s lost more than any one of us. I stuck my neck out and called you after the bodies of Martin Burke and Dylan Durrant were found under the piers. You came and took a look, no doubt tossed Etheridge some of your wisdom, then walked away. Together, you and Etheridge might have caught the killer. Etheridge might still be alive. And the families of the victims might have answers.” Cotton wasn’t shy about speaking her mind. I might have felt angry, but I admired her tenacity. “The way I see it, you are involved. You’ve always been involved. Whether you like it or not.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” I asked. Her eyes were everywhere except on me.

  “I have a theory Kelly Lyle is killing to get your attention. I don’t know why. I don’t understand what there is between you two.” The thought that this could be Lyle’s motivation made me go cold. I let her continue. “If not to get your attention, then why would she start killing here in Dorset? There is nothing that links her to this part of the country. Nothing except you. I don’t pretend to understand what she hopes to gain by doing what she’s doing. Unlike you, I’m on the outside looking in. What I do know is that the longer you leave getting involved, the more innocent people are going to lose their lives. How can you live with that and do nothing?” She didn’t wait for my response. “Has Lyle contacted you?”

  I overlooked her outburst. I had a feeling it had been building for quite some time. It was better it was out in the open. I answered the last question. “She sends me a postcard from time to time. The last one was from Italy. Nothing on the card suggests she has anything to do with the murders. No bragging or brinkmanship. I passed the cards on to Etheridge.”

  “What do you make of the Scrabble pieces?”

 
“They are new. As far as I’m aware, she’s never left anything similar at a crime scene before. They could be a red herring. They could be a game that we don’t understand yet. They could be misdirection. They could be anything her mind wants them to be.”

  “Is she crazy?”

  “How would you categorise crazy?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How about stripping a middle-aged man naked then tying him to a pillar beneath a pier before cutting his stomach wide open to reveal his guts. Then leaving him to either drown from the rising tide or bleed to death.” Cotton watched my reaction. She was testing me. Etheridge was right: she was tougher than I’d first given her credit for. I could almost picture him looking down and saying with a laugh, “Good luck, buddy. She’s your problem now.”

  “You don’t need to tell me what she’s capable of. And, no. She isn’t crazy in the way you mean. She’s complex. She is not a standard serial killer in that there is no pattern to whom she kills or how she kills them. She does not fall into the most common definition of psychopath; she shows signs of empathy for a select few. She’s possibly the smartest multiple killer I’ve come across. She is very much in control of both herself and her environment. Which is how she’s evading arrest.”

  “You’ve studied her?”

  “That’s my job.” I corrected myself. “That was my job.”

  Cotton reached into her thin jacket and pulled out an evidence bag. She showed it to me. “The inscription on the back had us stumped for a while. It was on Etheridge’s wrist. I’m guessing the watch belongs to you and is part of Lyle’s game?”

  The glass was damaged, and the watch was dirty-looking. I recognised it immediately as a gift and knew without looking what the inscription read: Forever, Love Helena.

  “Helena is my late wife.” I felt like my heart was being crushed as I held the watch in my hand again. Memories of Helena flooded back. Her smile as she watched me unwrap the watch on my birthday. “I thought I’d lost it when we moved from London. I can’t tell you how much it means to get this back.”

  “Why did you tell Etheridge to consider Kelly Lyle as a suspect? How do we know I haven’t wasted all these months investigating the wrong person?”

  I was pleased Etheridge had taken my advice and kept my theory from his team. I perched on the edge of my desk while Cotton sat in my tattered old comfy ‘thinking’ chair. It had been a battle getting permission to bring the chair with me from London, but after some tough negotiations with Alice and Faith, they had allowed it into our new home.

  “I encountered Kelly Lyle, The Mentor, during a separate investigation into a serial killer called Simon Baker. I had no idea who or what she was at the time. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered her involvement in that and many other cases. As I said, she’s complex.”

  “You sound like you admire her.”

  I ignored the remark and continued. “Lyle’s a collector. She takes a souvenir from each of her kills. Usually a piece of jewellery, but she’s also been known to take hair or a finger or toe or eye. Keeping a souvenir or trophy is very common. It’s been well documented.”

  “So, you think Lyle did it because you saw something was missing from each of our victims?”

  “Not this time. Etheridge let me see the personal effects from each victim. Martin Burke had a St. Christopher necklace, which his family said was not his. I suggested it came from the victim of a completely separate case. Dylan Durrant had a wedding ring, which, again, was not his. Both items could be linked indirectly to Lyle. I suggested he speak to an old colleague of mine at Scotland Yard to confirm my suspicions. Etheridge must have done so and been convinced enough to pursue that line of enquiry.”

  “I was the only one he put on looking at Lyle. Nobody else,” said Cotton. “Etheridge said he didn’t want all his eggs in one basket. I told him Lyle was a dead end.” She looked at me accusingly. “You’re the reason Etheridge had me spend months chasing my tail, getting nowhere. He must have known I’d find nothing.”

  “Etheridge chose you for a reason,” I insisted. “I don’t think it was because he was sidelining you. From what I know of him, my guess is he was putting one of his best detectives on the toughest part of the case.” I could see Cotton wasn’t convinced. “With so many lines of enquiry to pursue, Etheridge had a lot of tough choices to make.”

  “Why didn’t you offer to help? I just don’t get it. You could have consulted in a small way. If you had helped, Etheridge might still be alive.” Cotton sighed heavily. She rubbed her nose and choked back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “I’m sorry about Etheridge. I was in a very dark place for a long time. After my wife died, I was on full throttle for too long. Those who care about me helped me realise I needed to stop. Before it was too late. I came here for the sake of those I love and for my own health. For the record, my state of mind at that time is not something I hide, and at the same time it’s not something I talk about.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” Cotton checked the time. “I’d better go.”

  I showed her to the door. I was starting to see why Etheridge had held her in such high regard. She was fearless.

  “Emma,” I called after her. “I’ve tried to be straight with you. As honest as I can. I’m going to sleep on it. No promises. I want to speak to my family too. This isn’t just about me. I have them to consider. In the meantime, you look into whether you can get clearance for me to put in a few hours. I’ll review the case files and make some calls. Maybe I can put in a morning a week. Like I say, I’m going to sleep on it.”

  Cotton’s face lit up, and she stood a little taller. “I’ll call the chief now. Thank you.”

  “It’s getting late. Maybe call him in the morning?”

  “Not a chance. If you decide to help, I don’t want to waste a minute. I’ll call you as soon as I know. What’s your mobile number?”

  That got me smiling. She really was a go-getter. “I’ll call you, if… Give me a few days.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

  I left Cotton sitting in her car at the end of my driveway speaking to her boss. I was feeling apprehensive and, I had to admit, secretly thrilled. I now needed a serious conversation with Monica.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lyle woke with a start. She leaned across to the bedside table and checked the time on her watch. She’d overslept for the first time in a very long time.

  She looked back across the bed at Sienna, who lay beside her, then leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder, neck and breasts. Sienna turned to face Lyle and smiled. She lifted herself up onto her elbows and kissed Lyle firmly on the lips. Lyle gently pulled back.

  “Yesterday and last night were wonderful. You’re a sweet young thing, but now is not a good time for me. You should leave today.”

  Sienna sat up straight. “What? What do you mean? Are you kidding?”

  “It means there can’t be anything more than last night.”

  “That’s not what you said. It wasn’t what we felt last night, and you know it. Do you think this is the sort of thing I do all the time? You told me I was important, that we had something special, that you understood me. You were right. What has changed?”

  “I’m sorry, but you must leave.”

  “I get it. You told me what I wanted to hear to get me into bed. You were lonely, and you wanted sex. The thing is, I don’t believe that. Not for one second. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that’s true, I will leave. You’ll never need to see me again.”

  “That’s not it. Believe me when I say the reason I’m asking you to leave is because you are important to me.” Lyle looked at Sienna’s slim neck and thought about how easily she could choke the life out her. She wouldn’t do that. Not today. There was something about Sienna that made her feel different. Alive and warm. Seeing Sienna’s indignation as she put her point across, her anger, her passion and the fire in her eyes, made her feel something again. Something long bu
ried. She wanted to explore it. It scared her.

  Sienna was kneeling on the bed now. Lyle allowed her to dominate the space between them.

  “That’s rubbish, and you know it. That just doesn’t make any sense. If this is because of the small age difference between us, then I don’t have a problem with it. If this is because you’ve been hurt before, then I’m not that person who hurt you. I’m me. You cannot deny there’s something between us we can build on.”

  Lyle rose to the same height as Sienna. Her fingers tidied Sienna’s hair and soothed her. She looked deep into Sienna’s eyes. She kissed her with tenderness and memorised the sensations that reached every part of her body. She closed her eyes and traced her fingers over Sienna’s body one last time then got out of the bed and went to the door. She turned and looked at the woman that had captivated her.

  “Take your time. I’ll be out all day. Just make sure you’re gone by the time I get back.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “She left you another envelope a few days ago. I put it on your desk. Did you see it?” said Monica as I entered the kitchen.

  I nodded and gave her a face that said “Thank you.”

  She pointed to a large pile of post, bills mainly, that I’d done my best to ignore.

  I filled Sandy’s bowl with fresh water and put a few biscuits down for her. I sat on the floor beside her as she lapped at the water a couple of times then came over for a stroke.

  Monica waved a tea bag, and I nodded. “Yes, please.”

  “She’s not going to leave you in peace, is she?”