The DCI Yorke Series Boxset

by Wes Markin

  Yorke shrugged. ‘It doesn’t seem like it, but he means well.’

  Riley nodded. ‘Aha. Can’t blame him really. Most people mean well, but most people also can’t handle what I’ve done – what they think I am. Can’t really say I blame them. There’s a reason I did what I did, but I guess it didn’t have to be done in the way that I did it.’

  ‘So violently?’ Yorke said.

  ‘Yes.’ Riley heaved himself to his feet and leaned on his cane.

  Yorke looked down at Riley’s leg.

  ‘Prison, first day, kind of an initiation ceremony.’ He paused to smile. ‘Shouldn’t complain, most of me healed.’

  As he limped past Yorke, Riley put a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in so Yorke could hear his gruff voice in his ear. ‘They mean the world to me these two.’

  Yorke nodded.

  ‘The world. Will you get this monster?’

  Yorke looked up at Riley. His eyes were fixed on his. The moment lingered and Yorke wondered who would blink first. When it seemed like no one was going to, Yorke said, ‘We will.’

  Riley nodded and left the motorhome.

  Jake returned to him with two glasses of water.

  ‘When are you going to sort out your bedside manner?’ Yorke said.

  Jake shrugged as Brookes emerged from the bedroom. He held up a cigarette. ‘Let’s go out. I don’t smoke inside when Ewan’s here.’

  Jake said, ‘It’s about minus ten—’

  He was interrupted by Yorke’s tight grip on his leg. ‘Put your coat back on, Jake.’

  They shivered as Brookes smoked and swigged from another bottle of Asahi. Yorke wondered if it had been refrigerated; if so, it would be pretty uncomfortable to drink in this climate.

  ‘How did she die?’ Brookes said after blowing out a lungful of smoke.

  Not the best question for him to be asking, thought Yorke. He noticed Jake looking at his feet, clearly not wanting to engage.

  Brookes noticed too. ‘That bad, eh?’

  ‘We are not too sure of that ourselves yet,’ Yorke said, maintaining eye-contact with him.

  But Yorke was sure of one thing – she had been murdered brutally and with a design. He’d had enough personal experience, most notably with the murderous Ray family, and read enough case files to know that the killer had been purposeful in his action, a goal of some kind had been achieved, and he was most certainly going to act again.

  ‘You are going to keep me firmly in the quiet over this one, aren’t you?’ Brookes said.

  Yorke reached out to put his hand on Brookes’ shoulder. ‘We know you are devastated, Iain. But we do this right, it ends right. You know that …’

  ‘Did you feel that way with Danielle?’

  Yorke flinched and withdrew his hand. It was a low blow, but one he had to accept in the current situation.

  Danielle had been Yorke’s older sister. Estranged older sister. Close as youngsters, enemies as adults. She’d run with the wrong crowd. Got herself mixed up with drugs and prostitution.

  ‘Were you told how she died?’ Brookes said.

  Yorke gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath and didn’t take the bait. ‘I was and it was too soon.’

  In a fit of anger, a fellow drug addict called William Proud, had held Danielle’s face against a hot stove until she’d passed out in agony. Her heart had been unable to take it and she’d died moments later.

  ‘Harry Butler told me,’ Yorke said, ‘and look where he is now. It didn’t do either of us any good.’

  ‘And how does it feel to know that Proud is still out there?’

  Disgraced Detective Harry Butler had framed the wrong man. Proud had run and was still out there somewhere. Yorke turned away.

  ‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Jake said.

  Brookes threw his empty bottle into the darkness. ‘And you, Jake, you at least know how it feels to almost lose everything.’

  Before they’d had Frank, Sheila and Jake’s marital problems had reached a crescendo. He’d been consumed by work, and then Lacey Ray, an old flame, who was exploring her sociopathic tendencies, had returned to Salisbury.

  ‘I do,’ Jake said. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he considered the dead pigeon he’d received – was she back?

  ‘Imagine if Lacey had done more than just threaten her, Jake? Imagine if she’d put that knife into your wife’s belly and into your unborn—’

  ‘Enough, Iain.’ Yorke turned back around and held his hand up.

  Brookes threw away the butt of his cigarette and thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. He looked down, clearly welling up again.

  Yorke stepped forward and took him by the shoulders, ‘You need us back at the station, Iain. Let’s just go and get that statement – you be with your son, and I won’t let what happened to William Proud ever happen again.’

  Brookes nodded. Yorke embraced his friend.

  When they got back inside, Kelly had laid on three cups of tea. A clever distraction, no doubt, from the fridge full of Asahi. They spoke quietly. A child, broken up by the night’s events, was sleeping only metres away.

  ‘It was just before five when I picked him up,’ Brookes said, wrapping his hands around the hot cup. ‘I know it was just before, because I looked at my watch and thought that this was the first time I’d be on time to collect him in over a month.’

  Jake made the notes while Yorke nodded, reassuring him that this was procedure, and just a way to establish a firm timeline around tonight’s tragic events.

  ‘Did you go in?’

  ‘No. Never do. Relationship was at rock bottom, you know that.’ He paused for a mouthful of tea.

  ‘That’s okay, Iain. Did you talk?’

  ‘Briefly. About homework. Ewan needed to practise some spellings for the morning.’

  ‘Was anyone else with Jessica at this point?’

  ‘Not that I noticed.’ He paused and looked away. ‘And I always try to notice. You know I still love her, sir.’ He squeezed his eyes tightly together. ‘Loved.’

  Yorke reached over and clasped the top of Brookes’ arm.

  He opened his eyes. ‘Besides, Ewan would have told me if that was the case.’

  ‘And at that point you just left with Ewan?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it, couldn’t have been more than two minutes. We then went for pizza in Amesbury. I thought I could get him to practise his spellings while we waited for it but the slippery devil had left them back at the house. Accident apparently.’ Brookes paused for a smirk. ‘So, I phoned Jess, and she read them over the phone. And that was the last time we spoke …’

  ‘What time was that?’

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it to show Yorke. An outgoing call to Jessica was made at 17:22.

  Yorke’s phone buzzed. He read a message from Gardner: Sir? They were clearly raring to go at the station.

  ‘Jake, just call Emma at the station. Tell her, we need to wrap up here. Just check that everything is okay with Price and the press. I’m worried he hasn’t come straight to me as usual; maybe, he thinks he’ll get more if he chips away at Emma.’

  ‘He’ll be in for a disappointment then!’ Jake said, rising to his feet. He reached down and gripped Brooke’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Iain.’

  Brookes nodded. ‘I know you are, Jake. And I’m sorry for some of the things I said … before.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Jake said. ‘I won’t sleep till we find out what happened.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’

  Jake left the motorhome.

  ‘So, what happened after you got the pizza?’ Yorke continued.

  ‘The usual. We came back here and ate it. Riley came by. He put his favourite film on.’ Brookes paused to finish his tea.

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Watership Down.’

  ‘About the rabbits?’

  ‘Yep – you’d never have guessed. An emotional man Riley. After that, Ewan went to bed. About half-past eight. He always
reads for about half an hour before sleeping. It helps him relax.’

  Yorke continued making notes in Jake’s book.

  ‘Myself and Riley then stayed up until about midnight playing chess.’ He pointed up at the board game on an overhead shelf. ‘Once Riley had beaten me a few times, he headed off to bed. I’d only been in bed less than half an hour before Bryan and Collette showed up with the news.’

  As Yorke continued making notes where Jake had left off, he considered whether or not Brookes had opportunity. He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t. If these times added up, and Riley provided a solid alibi, the only window Brookes had was between 12 and the time the anonymous 999 call was placed around 12:15. Could he really have journeyed the ten minutes to his ex-wife’s house, performed that barbaric, but rather meticulous deed on her, and then escaped before PC Sean Tyler arrived at 12:20 to secure the scene? Ten minutes to do what he’d seen in that room? He’d have to have that confirmed by Patricia but he really couldn’t see how this would be possible. Plus, wouldn’t Riley have seen him leaving his motorhome? And did he not risk his son waking up and realising he wasn’t there? If Riley checked out as an alibi, Brookes looked secure. This would have to be done within the hour, preferably while he was leading the first meeting at the station.

  Which begged the question, ‘Iain, do you know of anyone who had a problem with Jessica?’

  ‘That question has been running through my mind for the last hour. I can only think of one person that she ever mentioned …’ He paused and rubbed his head. ‘Fuck… what was his name again?’

  A sudden burst of wind hurled rain at the window like pellets from a shotgun and, for a moment, Yorke saw Jessica’s body in his mind again, ravaged as if set upon by wild animals. He tasted bile in his mouth. They’d had four murders in Wiltshire last year; she could have died any of those ways, but not this way—

  ‘Preston!’ Brookes said. ‘He was called Robert Preston.’

  Yorke raised an eyebrow and flipped open his notebook.

  ‘One of the other parents at Ewan’s school. Married, but used to flirt with her relentlessly. Drove her crazy. She caught him holding a phone in the air one night at parent’s evening and swore that he’d taken a snap of her on his mobile phone. I reassured her that she’d probably made a mistake. I mean, I’m always holding my phone in the air trying to get reception? Doesn’t everyone? Shit, was I wrong?’

  ‘Anything else?’ Yorke said.

  Brookes took a huge sigh, bit his top lip and shook his head. Then, he looked Yorke in the eyes, ‘How did she die, Mike?’

  Yorke flinched, not so much because of the question he’d already argued against outside, but rather due to the sudden use of his first name. ‘Iain, listen …’

  ‘Did she suffer? Tell me that at least.’

  Yorke leaned over and put his hand on his knee. Firmly. ‘I genuinely don’t know, but believe me when I say to you, I’m going to find everything out and get them. And when I do, you’ll be the first to know.’

  Colourless and empty, the incident room in Devizes did not welcome Yorke. Neither did the people within it. They stared at a table too varnished to warrant a place in so barren a setting.

  Even Wendy, the ever-trusted Management Support Assistant, struggled to make eye contact with anyone as she delivered the tea and biscuits.

  Gardner had already printed the randomly generated name of the case across the top of the central whiteboard. ‘Operation Restore.’

  Restore what? Yorke thought. How do you find a way back after damage like this?

  DI Mark Topham waved the biscuits away, smiled at Wendy and said, ‘Too many Syns in that.’

  Everyone stared at Topham, unable to believe that he had made a reference to his Slimming World programme at such a sensitive time.

  ‘Sorry.’ He looked down at the table.

  When Wendy left, Yorke continued, ‘All the windows and doors have now been thoroughly checked; it wasn’t forced entry, so she may have known whoever it was.’

  DS Jake Pettman cracked his knuckles; Jeremy Dawson from HOLMES flinched and stopped typing up the information for a moment.

  ‘So, Robert Preston, the stalker from Ewan’s school is viable then - if we could only find him,’ Jake said.

  ‘We will know in a matter of minutes,’ Gardner said. ‘We’re picking him up from the White Hart hotel, opposite the cathedral, he’s been staying for the last month or so, since his wife threw him out.’

  Unable to stand being seated any longer, Yorke stood up and wandered over to the line of noticeboards around the central whiteboard. Names, assignments and leads had already started to swell outwards from a collection of shocking images. He looked over at Gardner and nodded his appreciation for her hard work in managing the incident room with such thoroughness. She caught the nod and offered a tentative smile.

  ‘I’m not optimistic about door-to-door, the distance between each cottage is considerable, but you never know. Someone may have seen the vehicle, or even more unlikely, someone on foot, we will know soon. PolSA and SOCOs are also still working the area hard. Again, I’m not optimistic. There’s a reason for my pessimism,’ he turned and pointed at the crimson angel, Jessica. ‘Precision.’

  He turned back and surveyed the crowd.

  ‘Whoever it was took her heart.’ He paused to take a deep breath. ‘And, according to Dr Wileman, they took it with surgical precision. Someone with that much skill … traces will be hard to come by.’

  ‘Preston is a real-estate agent, not a surgeon,’ Topham said.

  Jake said, ‘Still … you can’t rule him out based only on that.’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ Yorke said, ‘but it’s a strong point. I heard, moments ago, that they’ve lifted a print. They’re running it right now, so that might give us something. There’s also something else very peculiar here.’

  ‘The urine on the sofa?’ Gardner said.

  ‘Yes. They have a corn snake. They don’t urinate, at least not in that way.’

  ‘Jessica?’ Jake said, looking down at the table again. ‘In fear?’

  ‘Possible,’ Yorke walked back over to the table for a mouthful of tea while Dawson continued tapping on the keyboard furiously.

  ‘What about Iain, sir?’ Topham said.

  It was a subject that had not been broached yet and needed to be. Yorke finished his coffee and then relayed the events of the previous hour at Brookes’ motorhome.

  ‘The alibi checks out,’ Yorke said. ‘He was with Riley during the estimated time of death.’

  ‘And are you a hundred percent certain, sir?’ Topham said.

  Yorke flashed him a look; it was important to be challenged, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. ‘As certain as I can be at this stage. The lack of CCTV footage on the emergency call at quarter-past twelve is particularly frustrating. We are correlating the CCTV footage around the local area.’

  Yorke turned and stared at the images again. ‘We need to get into Jessica’s place of work first thing, speak to her colleagues. DI Gardener and DS Simmonds, I want you to head there. DI Topham and DS Bates, I would like you to talk to her friends and family members apart from her mother. I believe she has an aunt and some cousins locally. I have learned that her mother, Karen, is in the Mary Chapman Living Facility suffering from Alzheimer’s so I will go there.’ Yorke tapped the image. ‘Who has had a problem with Jessica in the past?’

  ‘And the flesh from her thighs, sir?’ Simmonds said, ‘Why would anyone do that?’

  Yorke shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, but we need to make damned sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  There was a knock at the door. PC Sean Tyler poked his head round.

  ‘The print … it is Preston’s. He was in a few years ago on a drunk and disorderly; we tagged him then.’

  Jake was already on his feet. ‘So do we have him?’

  ‘Bad news I’m afraid. We went to pick him up from the White Hart – he’s not there. He wen
t out at nine according to the hotel, and he hasn’t been back since.’

  ‘Check his house out now,’ Yorke said, ‘and bring his wife into this station. We need to know as much as we can about this man … now.’

  Minutes away from sunrise, DS Iain Brookes nursed his final bottle of Asahi on his motorhome doorstep. He looked out over the trees, poking out of the ground like the hands of buried giants who may have once ruled the world, and listened. He heard the occasional rustle but was unable to determine the source. Animals or merely the wind? He thought of Louise Lynn, an elderly lady in an adjacent motorhome. She’d had a house rabbit that had happily hopped around the site until a fox had struck. She had welcomed it back in with its stomach split open, and its insides hanging loose like the udders of a cow.

  This wasn’t the place for people to be struck down like Jessica had. They did a good job. Iain and his colleagues. Wiltshire had low crime rates. This wasn’t America with its colourful carousel of murderous fanatics and self-proclaimed artists! What had happened? Where had this come from?

  Even if Preston was responsible, he wouldn’t get any time with the creep. His role in this whole shitty affair would simply end with him at the back of a courtroom. A spare part. Forced to watch Preston take his chances with the lottery of the legal system.

  The sun finally rose. He took no solace from the destruction of darkness by light. He could take solace from only one thing.

  He looked down at the cloth-wrapped item that Riley had given him earlier, accompanied with the words, ‘Don’t open it now. I’m sure you know what it is and every part of you is screaming out that it’s not right. But that’s the way it is. There’s a maniac out there right now, and I’m not having you sitting vulnerable with that boy of yours. I promise I’ll answer all of your questions about where and why after they’ve got this maniac, but until then, that stays here, with you.’

  He unwrapped the Glock 26 pistol; a gun that he was familiar with from his firearm’s training.

  So, as the birds began to sing in a cloudless sky, to a sun that gave light but promised warmth that would not come, and the foxes moved amongst the trees, he decided that the hunt was on.