Hard Truth

by Jay Gill

  Emma said, “Where is she? What do you mean?”

  “Lyle knows we’ll be monitoring the airports. That’s exactly what she wants us to do.”

  Emma and I started thinking out loud.

  “If she’s not taking a flight out of Heathrow, do you think she’s hoping to disappear within the UK? That’s pretty much impossible. In the past, she’s always fled the country,” said Emma.

  I said, “If she is not catching a commercial flight, there are plenty of other ways out of the country by road or by sea or private jet.”

  Cotton added, “She could catch a ferry. The port is no more than fifteen minutes from here. It goes directly to France.”

  We looked at each other knowingly. That was Lyle’s style; she wanted us to waste our time covering airports while she remained right under our noses before slipping away.

  Emma said, “I’ll find out when the next ferry leaves.” While we both ran to the car, Emma got back on the phone. As I drove, she pointed directions and spoke to security at the ferry terminal.

  A minute later she came off the phone and smiled. “We’ve got time. The next ferry leaves tomorrow morning. We’ll work with the port’s own security to monitor the ferries. I’ve also arranged round-the-clock surveillance of Lyle’s house in case she comes back. All local and main airports will also be asked to pay special attention and be on the lookout for her.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go and get set up. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

  Chapter Eighty

  The sound of Emma getting back in the car woke me. She placed two cups of tea in the car’s cup-holders and took the last bite of her bacon sandwich.

  “I couldn’t wait; I ate mine on the way back to the car. Yours is down there,” said Emma, pointing beside my tea. “I wasn’t sure whether you were a red sauce or a brown sauce man. I guessed and went brown.”

  I looked at the sandwich bag resting next to the tea. “Thank you,” I said. “I might eat it later.” I took a sip of tea and looked at my watch. It was 7.46 a.m. The ferry to France would leave in less than forty-five minutes.

  Emma and I had been watching and waiting all night. If Lyle was leaving the country this way, my hunch was she’d arrive and board at the last minute.

  Emma said, “It’s getting busy.”

  “We’d better make a move,” I said. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up. You know what to do if you spot Lyle?”

  “Neither of us should approach her alone.” Emma switched on her radio. “I’ll call you if I see her. And you do the same.”

  As we approached the terminal building, Emma said, “I’ll check inside in case we missed her going in. You wait out here.”

  Keeping my distance so as not to be spotted, I checked each car and taxi as it arrived. A concern I had was that Lyle would use a disguise. She was well known for using disguises in the past; we’d have a tough time spotting her if she did the same this time.

  A large group of schoolchildren who were late for check-in got off a coach and swarmed past me. At the same time, a taxi pulled up right behind the school coach. I caught sight of a pair of long, slender legs exiting its rear passenger door. As the woman stepped out and straightened up, my eyes moved up her body until they reached her eyes. Eyes I recognised. I stopped dead in my tracks. There, not two hundred yards away, was Kelly Lyle. I looked around for Emma, but she was still inside the building. I tried to reach her on the radio but got nothing but static.

  Lyle hadn’t seen me. Swinging a small hand-luggage bag onto her shoulder, she turned and paid the taxi driver. She was alone. Without thinking, I stepped off the pavement into the road. A car horn blared, and the driver raised his hands in exasperation. I looked down at the seriously annoyed driver, then back up at Lyle. Our eyes met, and she froze. She looked left and right for an escape.

  “Lyle, stop,” I shouted. “It’s over. Stay right where you are.”

  Not a chance. Lyle dropped her bag, kicked off her high heels and began to run.

  I looked back to see Emma approaching at a run. She was already on her radio to port security requesting backup. She waved at me to go after Lyle. Not that I needed encouragement.

  Lyle began running towards the ferry, pushing over anyone in her way. She was fast on her feet, and our paces were evenly matched.

  A security guard saw the chase and in a moment of confusion tried to grab hold of me. I sidestepped him, causing myself to stumble, and shouted back at him that I was the police. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him on his radio.

  Lyle had gained some distance. She crossed the car park, and as she did, a small white delivery van pulled up in front of her. The driver got out, and Lyle jumped in. The driver threw his arms up in despair as he watched his van being driven away. I gained on the van just as Lyle got it moving. Running up alongside it, I began banging on the window and calling Lyle to stop. She looked at me and smiled. Putting her foot to the floor, she accelerated away.

  Another party of schoolchildren streamed off a coach and began crossing the road. Two of the children start playing and chasing one another. One child pushed the other and started running away to avoid being pushed back. Lyle’s van swerved violently to avoid them. To everyone’s relief, she didn’t mow them down.

  A mother with two children stopped to attend to one of them. As she knelt in front of the younger child’s pushchair, her older child broke free from her hand. She watched in horror as he ran out into the road.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, and like the mother, I could only watch helplessly as the speeding van approached the little boy. His mother screamed and managed only two steps, her arms outstretched, before the van was inches away from the child. At the last second, it swerved, missing the boy but causing Lyle to lose control of the van. It heeled over to one side, two of the wheels lifting off the ground.

  Dropping back onto all four wheels, the van veered violently from left to right before rounding the side of a red brick office building and disappearing from sight. Dammit, Lyle was getting away again. I took off after the van as fast as I could.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the corner of the office building, and as I did, I heard an almighty screech and grinding of metal. As I rounded the corner, I could see the van on its roof. Smoke was coming from the engine. It had evidently hit a row of low bollards and tipped over. I had her. Lyle wouldn’t be getting away this time.

  The smoke was thick and black now. As I took a step to get closer, I felt the hand of a security guard pull me back. “It’s going to blow,” he said. “I’ve seen this sort of thing before. There’s nothing you can do.”

  I tried to step away, but he held onto me firmly. And just as well he did.

  My body rocked as the van exploded and burst into flames. I didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen; this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. Many people, myself included, needed Lyle to stand trial for her crimes and account for what she’d done.

  I tried to get close, but the flames were too fierce and intense. Like everyone else, I could only watch as Lyle perished in the ball of fire.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  The port was sealed off, and within a couple of hours, the whole area had become a media circus. Local and national news teams were vying for snippets of information. The police pursuit and spectacular death of one of Britain’s most notorious serial killers was big news. I had seen it all before and wanted no part of it.

  I stayed out of the way as fire crews finished dousing the van. It would be a while before Lyle’s charred remains could finally be examined and taken away.

  “It’s over,” said Emma, coming up behind me and passing me a fresh cup of tea. “Between you and me, I hope she died in agony.”

  I looked at Emma, who continued sipping her tea.

  “What will you do now?” asked Emma. “Will you go back to your writing and lecturing?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “Right now, my family need me. A
fter that, well, I haven’t given much thought to what I’ll do next.” I handed Emma my warrant card.

  “You keep it. It’s still okay for a few more months,” said Emma.

  As Lyle’s body was driven away, Emma and I started walking back to the car.

  “What about you?” I asked Emma. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Once I’ve had some sleep, a shower and hot food.”

  “I know what you mean,” I agreed.

  Emma said, “I’ll miss working with a partner. Just as I got used to having a partner around, he rides off into the sunset.”

  “You make it sound like I’m disappearing forever. We’re friends. You helped me get my daughter back. If there’s ever anything you need, you only have to ask. I mean that.”

  Emma smiled.

  I added, “Within reason, of course. I don’t want you knocking on my door every other week asking for help on your next big case. I’m retired from all this, remember.”

  We both laughed, and, tongue in cheek, Emma said, “Oh, yes, I see that. Retired is what I thought as I watched you sprinting across a car park in pursuit of a speeding white van.”

  “Old habits die hard,” I said. “And anyway, where were you? It should have been you chasing that bloody van.” I gave her a friendly nudge.

  “Me? I was right behind you, ready to take over if you ran out of puff.”

  “That’s enough of your lip. Are you going to take me home or have I got to catch a taxi?”

  “Get in. I’ll drive you,” said Emma. “You know you said ‘You only have to ask.’ Well, there’s an investigation that’s been sat on my desk for a while now and…”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Just take a look.” Emma was splitting her sides with laughter.

  “Nope.”

  “How about you read a few case files?”

  “Nope. Shut up and drive.”

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Emma put the last box in the back of her car and slammed the boot. It didn’t amount to much, but it represented the time she and Dave had spent together. She’d kept a couple of photos and the t-shirt she’d liked seeing him in, but everything else she was letting go. The drive to his parents’ house she did in silence with just her thoughts for company.

  When she reached the house, she switched off the engine and sat deep in thought, staring at the front door. Dave’s parents had always been very welcoming to her, and she wondered why she was finding it so hard to see them now. Of course, she thought, mentally smacking her forehead. It was because she blamed herself for their son’s death.

  After a few more deep breaths and heavy sighs, Emma plucked up the courage to go up the front steps and knock.

  Jean opened the door. Emma was shocked at how much older she looked.

  “Oh, Emma, it’s so good to see you. Come here, sweetheart.” Jean put out her arms and enfolded Emma in a hug. “How are you coping?”

  “I’m okay. How are you and John?”

  “You know. Good days and bad days,” said Jean.

  “I’m so sorry, Jean,” said Emma.

  “I know you are. We all miss him. He had such a big heart. He’ll leave a huge hole in all our lives.”

  “He will,” said Emma.

  “There’s something I need to say, and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

  “Oh?” said Emma. She took a step back. “What’s that.”

  “I know you and Dave never actually tied the knot, but I want you to know that for a long time now I’ve seen you as my daughter-in-law. I don’t want that ever to change. I want you to think of yourself as my daughter. Every day, I thank God for you.”

  Emma tried to smile. How could she ever tell Jean the truth?

  “Thank you, Jean. It means a lot.”

  “Well, come in, come in,” said Jean. “John will be delighted to see you.”

  Emma said, “I have some of Dave’s belongings in my car; bits and pieces he’d want you to have.”

  “That can wait. We’re just about to go to Mass. They’re going to say a few words. Ask people to pray for him.”

  “I won’t keep you. I can come back another time. I was just going to drop the boxes off. I wasn’t going to stay; I don’t want to impose.”

  “We can do that later. John will give you a hand. He’s around here somewhere. Spends most of his time tinkering with his car at the moment. It stops him having to think about it. I suppose that’s how men cope.”

  Emma brushed off her jeans. “I’m not really dressed for church.”

  “Nonsense. You look lovely. You always do. It would mean a lot to me to have you by my side.” Jean put her hand on Emma’s arm and rubbed it. “It would really help.”

  Emma hadn’t been to church since she was a child. Given a choice, she would rather have jumped back in her car and driven as far away from this situation as possible. But right now, she felt an obligation she didn’t understand. Jean was a good woman, and she was hurting.

  “Let me get my bag,” said Emma.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Charles and Patti Gregory were sitting on the terrace of their Spanish villa.

  They had risen early and were eating breakfast in the cool of the morning.

  Charles turned the page of his British newspaper and scanned the headlines. He lifted his cup of breakfast tea to his lips and sipped it carefully. He placed the cup back down on the saucer and spread out the page he was reading in front of him to get a better look.

  “Are you okay, dear?” asked Patti.

  Charles said nothing for a moment as he continued to read. “He’s bloody done it.”

  “Please don’t use that language, Charles. Especially at breakfast. You know I don’t like it. Who’s done what? You’re not making any sense.” Patti continued to spread marmalade on her English muffin.

  “That detective, James Hardy. The one that came here,” said Charles.

  “Hardy. What about him?”

  “It says here that though the body has yet to be formally identified, it is believed the prime suspect in a series of murders, Kelly Lyle, died in a vehicle accident while being pursued by retired DCI James Hardy.”

  Patti Gregory felt lightheaded. She said, “I hope she fucking rots in hell.”

  “Language, Patti,” said Charles. “Do we still have his card? I might call him later.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “I don’t know. I have an urge to do something. You’re probably right. No, damn it; I’m going to write to Hardy and show my gratitude.”

  Patti no longer felt hungry. She put down her muffin, pushed the plate away and said, “She’s dead. That’s all that matters. Jacob can finally rest in peace. We all can.”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Saying goodbye to Dad was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

  After the funeral, Monica and I decided to invite everyone back to the house for the reception. The place was packed with Dad’s friends and colleagues as well as our family.

  I was taking some time to gather my thoughts and had been joined in my study by my old Met partner Rayner. A knock at the door made us both look up.

  Emma put her head around the door.

  “DI Cotton,” said Rayner, his voice slurred. “Helloo!” He attempted to heave himself out of my old comfy chair to welcome her, but gave up.

  Seeing three glasses and an almost empty bottle of whisky on my desk, Emma apologised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I can speak to you another time.” She went to leave but I pointed to a chair.

  “Take a seat. Come in. Join us for a drink,” I said. “I insist. Rayner, get Cotton a glass, would you?”

  Emma and Rayner looked at the spare glass of whisky on the desk at the same time. Pointing to it, Rayner said to Emma, as though he was letting her in on a secret, “That glass is for Hardy senior. We’re toasting him. Just wait a minute. I’ll get you a glass. Just wait. Wait.”

  Emma looked at me
with an amused smile and we both watched the big man as he concentrated on coordinating his movements.

  Rayner twisted his body and leaned back behind his chair and, with a lot of puffing and drunken effort, extracted another glass from the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. “I know where Jamie-boy keeps his stash. He’s a man of habit.”

  Rayner poured Emma a glass of whisky and handed it to her.

  “It was a lovely service,” said Emma, raising her glass respectfully.

  “Thank you,” I said. “It was great so many people were able to make it. They came from all over.”

  “The best,” said Rayner. The big man drained his glass and poured the last of the bottle into it. I guessed he’d be sleeping in my old comfy chair tonight. “The best service, for the great man.”

  Emma looked uneasy, so I asked, “What’s on your mind?”

  She absently stroked her jacket pocket.

  Drunk as he was, Rayner didn’t miss a thing. He leaned towards Emma with a broad smile on his face and said, “Don’t ever take up poker. Your body language is an open book.”

  “I didn’t want to bring this up today,” said Emma, “but under the circumstances, I think it’s important.”

  “What circumstances? What are you talking about?” I asked.

  She took out a single sheet of paper and handed it to Rayner, who had his hand out and half snatched it from her. He read it, looked at Emma then at me, and shook his head.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He handed me the paper, which I could already see was part of a post-mortem report.

  “Do we know Samantha Dickson is?” asked Rayner.

  “She was reported missing a few days ago. She worked at the nursing home where Lyle’s mother is a resident. Lyle must have met her there.”