Fatal Promise: A totally gripping and heart-stopping serial-killer thriller

by Angela Marsons

  ‘Oh yeah, you asked him very nicely and in a roundabout way if either him or his father is a cold-blooded killer, so I’m not that surprised he wouldn’t let you have his Reeboks,’ Bryant said.

  ‘You honestly think it’s just a coincidence that he’s wearing the exact type of shoe that we’re looking for?’ Kim asked but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Penn confirmed it on the database and with the manufacturer.’

  ‘He also confirmed that those shoes are their second biggest selling pair of trainers and have been on the market for seven years now, meaning that there’s… a lot of them out there.’

  She couldn’t disagree with that.

  ‘And why would he wear them so openly if he’d used them while committing a murder?’ Bryant asked. ‘They might still have blood on them.’

  ‘His dad is a cleaner. He could easily sort them out. Pretty sure they have stuff to attack bloodstains in a hospital,’ she observed.

  ‘Except Mancini senior isn’t at work right now. He’s on paid suspension. How’d he get the stuff to clean the shoes?’

  ‘Oh, so we should disregard completely that one of our key witnesses in this case is wearing the exact same make of trainer found imprinted on the jacket of our dead body? Yeah, that makes sense. Feel free to nip upstairs and tell Penn he’s wasted about thirty hours of his life finding evidence that we’re gonna choose to ignore.’

  Bryant ignored her frustration and continued. ‘Mancini is here under his own steam. He can leave any time, and I think you’re just going to have to accept those things are staying right where they are: on his feet.’

  Kim opened her mouth to retort and then closed it again.

  ‘Do me a favour, Bryant. Ring Stace and ask her to get Mitch here. Now, I’m going for coffee and when I get back I am so done being nice.’

  Sixty-Five

  Stacey put down the phone. ‘Strange. Boss wants Mitch here. Don’t think we’ve ever done that before.’

  ‘And Mitch is?’ Penn asked.

  ‘Forensics guy. Normally leads the teams of crime scene folks.’

  Stacey found his number and put in the call. He asked if it was urgent, and she said yes, not really knowing but assuming her boss wouldn’t have made the request otherwise.

  ‘So, what are you doing now you’ve found the paw print?’ Stacey asked.

  ‘I’ve been chasing up Forensics for anything more on Phyllis Mansell, but the lab experts on the blue fibres are on a half-day training course about advances in polymers… or something,’ he said.

  ‘So, you’ve got nothing to—’

  ‘So, I started going through the three dozen or so witness statements to Saul Cordell’s accident and there’s one here that’s bothering me.’ he said.

  ‘Just one?’ she asked, sarcastically. Out of thirty-six statements that all said the same thing he was focussed on the one that said something different.

  She still needed to have a good look at Jessie’s phone and decide on her next move, but the boss had been clear on the case priority.

  ‘So, what’s the story with this statement?’ she asked.

  ‘Young guy says he saw something a bit dodgy going on around junction 2 of the M5 around the time of the accident.’

  ‘Dodgy?’ Stacey asked.

  ‘He told the officer he’d be better off chasing the idiot who was flashing his lights a few miles back.’

  ‘And Traffic say?’

  ‘That he was just trying to detract attention from himself because he was caught doing 119 miles per hour, but the kid got a ticket anyway, so what did he have to gain?’

  When thirty-five statements said the exact same thing and one said something different common sense dictated a majority rule. Except in police work that got trumped by instinct and Stacey could understand why it was giving Penn pause for thought.

  In all honesty she wanted to focus all her attention on Jessie Ryan’s disappearance, but for now that would have to wait.

  ‘If there’s even the slightest possibility that Saul Cordell’s death was not an accident we’ve gotta dig as deep as we can,’ she said, grudgingly.

  He nodded his agreement.

  ‘Okay, you call the kid, and I’ll get started on the CCTV.’

  Sixty-Six

  ‘Okay, Giovanni, I’m gonna give it to you straight,’ Kim said, setting her coffee down on the table. ‘A man is dead and so is an elderly lady and I’m wondering if you had something to do with it.’

  His face paled as he began to shake his head.

  ‘I have evidence building that I think is going to point towards either you, your dad or both of you, so I think you should—’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’ he asked, looking from her to Bryant.

  ‘Did you hear me read you your Miranda rights?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’m just being honest with you because I think you’re hiding something.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Don’t say anything right now. Just listen.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t hurt someone because—’

  ‘Thing is, Giovanni. You were very angry at the way your dad was treated by both the hospital and Doctor Cordell. It’s understandable you’d want to protect his honour, defend him.’

  ‘But I honestly—’

  ‘I want you to know that we understand. We get it,’ she said, glancing at Bryant, who had a firm set to his jaw and she knew why. He’d get over it. The guy wasn’t even under caution.

  ‘So, I’m wondering if a situation just got out of your control, that you didn’t intend to hurt—’

  ‘I wouldn’t… I swear,’ he said, looking to Bryant, who nudged her leg beneath the table.

  She ignored him.

  ‘See the thing is to hurt someone just because you feel like it or to defend your family is almost like two different crimes, and I don’t think you’d just hurt someone for no reason. Even a judge would understand feeling strongly about—’

  ‘A minute outside, guv?’ Bryant said, breaking the tension she’d deliberately built between them.

  She smiled tightly and left the room. She waited for Bryant to close the door.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed.

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ he snapped. ‘The bloody Reid technique?’ he asked. ‘I was counting the steps with you. Textbook, and even in the correct order. Lead suspect, shift blame, discourage denial, reinforce sincerity, offer alternatives, give a more socially acceptable motive like the defence of one’s family,’ he said, eyes flashing.

  ‘It’s an effective method,’ she defended.

  The whole programme was a three-step process. Fact Analysis followed by a Behaviour Analysis Interview and then the nine steps of Interrogation.

  ‘Yeah, but you skipped straight to third base and hammered the guy with a monologue rather than a question and answer session which—’

  ‘Bryant, I want some answers and the technique can be—’

  ‘It’s guilt presumptive and you know it. It’s confrontational, psychologically manipulative with the single purpose of getting a confession, but more than anything, guv, it’s beneath you. That guy is here voluntarily, without a brief, and he hasn’t even been arrested.’

  Her own frustration churned at her stomach, compounded by the truth of his words.

  The force directive was to apply the principals of the PEACE model. Preparation and Planning, Engage and Explain, Account, Closure and Evaluate which encouraged more of a dialogue between investigator and suspect.

  And she did. Normally. But right now she wanted results.

  She met her colleague’s gaze. ‘Okay,’ she said, knowing he had a point.

  ‘Don’t humour me,’ he spat.

  ‘I’m not. You’re right. I shouldn’t have questioned him like that. I just know he’s hiding something and—’

  ‘We’ll find it the legal, ethical way but not at any cost,’ he answered.

  ‘People are dying, Bryant, in case yo
u’ve forgotten that.’

  ‘And we’re the good guys, guv, in case you’ve forgotten that.’

  Almost. Sometimes. But not with her colleague’s integrity working right alongside them.

  A constable approached and nodded in her direction.

  ‘Marm, Mitch Allen is waiting for you in reception.’

  Kim smiled at Bryant’s puzzled expression.

  ‘Great timing,’ she said, looking along to the foyer. ‘Would you be kind enough to send him back here?’

  Sixty-Seven

  Susan Weston was waiting when her daughter opened the front door. The four hours at work and the three hours wearing a line in the kitchen lino had done nothing to dampen her anger.

  Susan had lost count of the times her daughter had brought the police to her door but this time was different. This time was serious.

  ‘Hey Mum, what?…’

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing, Emma?’ she cried out as her daughter entered the kitchen.

  Emma visibly paled. ‘What-what’s happened?’

  ‘And where have you been?’ Susan exploded. ‘You finished school an hour ago.’

  ‘I just went to check—’

  ‘Are you actually trying to get us caught?’ Susan cried, banging her hand down on the breakfast bar.

  ‘No… no… I just wanted to make sure…’

  ‘What if she’s watching you, eh? What if that copper or someone else is keeping an eye on you and watching where you go? Do you have any idea, any idea at all what could happen to us?’

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ Emma said, moving towards her.

  Susan backed away. She wasn’t done shouting yet.

  Rarely had she lost her temper with her only child. Since Emma’s father had left seven years before they had become a team, unbreakable. They had grown even closer as they’d tried to make sense of their smaller family unit. And as she’d held her weeping daughter and explained that Daddy wasn’t coming home she’d vowed that she would protect her daughter for the rest of her days. And she had tried every day to keep that promise. And if that had shaped their relationship more as friends than parent and child she was paying the price now.

  Because right now she was angry, frightened and more than a little disappointed, especially with what she had to say next.

  ‘And that copper saw you hit Jessie?’

  Emma coloured, showing Susan that the police officer had been telling the truth.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Emma, what the hell were you thinking? Someone’s got it on camera. Why didn’t you tell me… before?…’

  ‘It’ll be okay, Mum, I promise,’ Emma said, taking her hand.

  ‘No, it won’t, Em,’ Susan said, as the fear clutched at her stomach. ‘You kept the damn phone. Why did you keep it in the house?’

  ‘Where is it?’ Emma asked, as panic widened her eyes.

  ‘That officer has it.’

  ‘You let her take it?’ Emma asked.

  ‘How the hell was I supposed to stop her?’ Susan screamed.

  ‘If she didn’t have no warrant she had no—’

  ‘Emma,’ Susan snapped. ‘It’s a bit late for that now. Is there anything on there that could hurt us?’

  Emma thought for a minute and shook her head.

  Susan thanked God for small mercies.

  Her daughter pulled her chair closer. ‘Mum, it’ll be okay. It’ll all blow over and everything will be fine.’

  Susan felt the rage seep out of her at the sheer naiveté of her fifteen-year-old daughter. So much older and yet so young too.

  How the hell had she got involved in this in the first place? How had it come to this?

  Emma looked at her, her eyes full of reassurance for her benefit and her mouth turned down in fear.

  And that was why, she remembered.

  Her daughter hadn’t known what to do and had asked for her help. And she’d said yes.

  Susan took a deep and cleansing breath. What was done was done. There was no way back for either of them now.

  ‘That copper knows something is going on, Em. She’s gonna come back and when she does we’d better have our damn stories straight about what happened to Jessie on Sunday night.’

  Sixty-Eight

  ‘Okay, Mr Mancini, thank you for your time,’ Kim said, from the doorway. ‘You’ve been a great help and now we’ll take you home.’

  The relief was evident on his face.

  Mitch reached them as they piled out into the corridor.

  She nodded in his direction, appeared to have a sudden thought and spoke loudly enough that Giovanni Mancini could hear her.

  ‘Actually, Bryant, take him out to your car the back way. I don’t want people seeing him here. He’s a witness not a suspect and I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.’

  Bryant pulled a face. ‘Bloody hell, guv, that’s…’

  His words trailed away as he glanced at Mitch and a smile began to pull at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘I really don’t want people to get the wrong idea,’ she said, as they all headed to the rear exit.

  She offered a bewildered Mitch a look that said all would become clear shortly.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about this, pal,’ Bryant said. ‘But the boss has got a point. You don’t need folks asking what you’re doing coming out of the nick, do you? My car’s just over there.’

  And the only thing between them and Bryant’s car was tarmac, a kerb, and a raised bed of soil awaiting a few summer plants.

  Bryant stepped on to the dirt, and Mancini followed. Three strides later Bryant and Mancini were beside Bryant’s car.

  ‘Cast it, Mitch,’ she said, nodding towards the deep and clear footprints in the fresh soil.

  He laughed, shook his head and opened his bag of tricks.

  There had been no other way.

  She needed that bloody shoe print.

  Sixty-Nine

  ‘So, what now?’ Bryant asked as they watched Mancini close the door behind himself.

  ‘We gotta wait,’ she said. ‘My gut is telling me those bloody shoes mean something. It was a perfect print on Cordell’s back, and I reckon those prints in the dirt are going to tie our guy to the crime.’

  ‘But didn’t Nat Mansell say something about a choice?’ Bryant asked. ‘What the hell does that have to do with these guys?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, trying to fit the pieces together in her head.

  ‘And these guys both have alibis for Monday night. They were both here, together.’

  ‘Yes, they were, weren’t they?’ Kim said, opening the car door.

  ‘Oh, great, what now?’ he said, already knowing that whatever it was had been prompted by something he’d said.

  She strode purposefully past the door to the Mancini home and knocked on the next.

  The woman who had abused them the previous day appeared wearing the same vest top and a toddler on her hip.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘You got a minute?’ Kim asked.

  ‘I’ve got two hungry kids under the age of three, whadda you think?’

  ‘We’ll be quick,’ Kim said.

  She adjusted the child on her hip and waited.

  ‘Were you at home on Monday night, say from five or six o’clock?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m always here from six o’clock,’ she added, wryly.

  ‘Do you remember if the Mancinis next door…’

  Kim’s words trailed away as the thumping music started up.

  ‘No, they weren’t here,’ she said. ‘At least, he wasn’t,’ she said, nodding towards the wall.

  Kim felt the excitement in her stomach. They had alibied each other, so either one or both were lying.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ she asked, feeling that one day was probably like another for this girl.

  ‘Cos if he’s home, this is what I get. Any time of the day or night.’

  ‘But not Monday?’ Kim asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I t
ook this one to the doctors, coughing like a good un. Got back to peace and quiet around quarter to six and—’

  ‘And you’re sure this was Monday?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Fuck me, love, you want me to write it in blood? I know when I took my kid to the quack.’

  ‘Thank you. You’ve been a great help,’ Kim said.

  The woman offered a rare smile before closing the door.

  Kim headed back to the car but paused.

  ‘Guv, it’s not our fight,’ he said, as she knocked loudly on the door.

  ‘We’re the police, Bryant. Everything’s our fight.’

  ‘Fair point,’ he said as he joined her in banging on the glass.

  Giovanni Mancini opened the door and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, guys, this is now harassment.’

  ‘No, this is harassment,’ she shouted above the music that was blaring down the hallway.

  ‘Constant loud noise is intimidating, threatening and aggressive behaviour which makes it our—’

  ‘I can do as I please in my own home,’ he challenged.

  ‘Technically yes, realistically no. And is it worth losing your home over?’

  ‘Why are you sticking your nose?…’

  ‘And not just you,’ she clarified, ignoring him. ‘Once we get you in court on an ASBO the council will get involved and they’ll just throw you out. You’ve got a job so you can find somewhere else to live and the woman next door trying to raise two kids will finally get some peace. Hope your new place has got room for your dad who may or may not have a job very soon.’

  She paused. ‘Or, you could just turn your music down and show her some fucking consideration,’ she said.

  He swallowed.

  She headed back to the car. The music had died down before she got there.

  Bryant shook his head. ‘I swear, if that guy doesn’t make a formal complaint—’ He stopped speaking as her phone rang.

  ‘Keats,’ she said, pressing the answer button. ‘Please tell me you have something useful for me,’ she said.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked.