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

by Angela Marsons

  Kim nodded. ‘Keep the pressure on the girl. Especially if you think she knows—’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, boss,’ Penn said, looking at his computer. His face creased into a smile.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s the Reeboks, boss. The footprint is a match.’

  Eighty-One

  ‘Bloody hell, I’ve never seen an arrest warrant land as quickly as that,’ Penn observed as the boss and Bryant headed out of the office at speed.

  ‘She doesn’t hang around,’ Stacey said, peering around Penn to the printer table behind.

  ‘So, you gonna offer me one of those fairy cakes or what?’

  As she’d seen the production line the previous night she felt she was entitled. Penn reached behind and placed the open container on the desk between them.

  Stacey appraised them. ‘Is that an S?’ she asked, pointing to a cake with a swirl of chocolate chips decorating the top.

  ‘Yep, Jasper said that one is for you and that no one else was to have it,’ he said, typing something quickly.

  ‘Aww… bless,’ she said, plucking it from the box.

  ‘So, what do you think about this three year?—’

  ‘One sec,’ he said, looking at the screen. ‘Just firing off a few emails trying to track this registration number.’

  She took a bite. ‘Mmm… nice,’ she said, trying to stop too many crumbs landing on her desk.

  ‘Done,’ he said, looking her way.

  ‘Last night you mentioned the three-year gap in Jessie’s health records. What are you thinking?’

  ‘I just can’t work out how a girl who has chronic health problems suddenly gets well for three years and then relapses,’ he said, sitting back.

  ‘Some kind of miracle drug?’ Stacey asked. ‘That wore off and became less effective?’

  ‘One drug for all those health issues?’ Penn queried. ‘It would have to be some drug or possibly a cocktail.’

  Stacey hit a few keys and brought up Jessie’s medical records.

  She shook her head. ‘Last thing she was prescribed was a high-grade stool softener for chronic constipation.’

  ‘And nothing after that for three years?’

  Stacey shook her head as Penn rubbed at his bandana.

  ‘She didn’t go and live with relatives in another county or something for a time, did she?’ he asked.

  ‘That would have explained it,’ she admitted. ‘But her mother said nothing about Jessie having lived elsewhere.’ Stacey shook her head. ‘I feel so sorry for that poor woman. Losing one child to poor health and having to constantly take care of…’ Stacey’s words trailed away as Penn regarded her studiously and she realised what she’d said and his own home situation.

  ‘Oh shit, Penn, I don’t mean… I didn’t…’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said, waving away her apology but the frown on his face remained.

  ‘What did I say?’

  ‘What year was the brother born?’ he asked.

  ‘In 2013,’ she answered.

  ‘And when did he die?’

  Stacey looked back over her notes. ‘He died in 2016. He was alive when Jessie was ten through to when she was thirteen.’

  ‘So, the only healthy part of her life was when her brother was alive and he was desperately ill?’

  Stacey regarded him with an open mouth.

  ‘Oh shit, Penn, what the hell have we found?’

  Eighty-Two

  ‘Guv, will you just wait a few more minutes? If Mancini is our guy we can’t risk destroying anything in there.’

  She drummed her fingers on the dashboard. A squad car was parked behind them, waiting to take him in, and the arrest and search warrant was safely tucked in her pocket. Only Mitch was missing to secure the scene forensically once they left.

  Kim was eager to get Giovanni Mancini down to the station. Both him and his Reeboks. If Bryant thought she’d been tough on him the day before, her colleague might want to shield his eyes this time around.

  ‘He could be destroying evidence right now,’ she said with frustration.

  ‘Look, just give—’

  ‘He’s here,’ Kim said, grabbing the door handle.

  Mitch’s van rolled in behind the squad car. Her appearance out of the car prompted the two constables to make a move too. They all met at the rear of Bryant’s Astra. Mitch and two techies began changing into protective suits.

  Kim spoke directly to the constables. ‘One knock and if he doesn’t answer, force the door.’

  They nodded their understanding and headed towards the target property.

  They knocked once, and Kim found herself hoping they could barge in and take him by surprise.

  The door began to slowly open, revealing Giovanni Mancini.

  Kim rushed past, impatient to have him down at the station.

  ‘Giovanni Mancini, I’m arresting you for the murder of Gordon Cordell. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  She ignored his bewildered expression, most likely born of being caught.

  ‘We have a warrant to search these premises,’ she said, laying the paperwork on the kitchen countertop.

  One of the constables asked him to put out his hands. The request seemed to nudge him from the dreamlike state he’d entered.

  ‘You’ve got to be fuck—’

  ‘I can assure you we’re not joking,’ Kim said, as the techies, led by Mitch, entered the home.

  ‘And make sure you get those Reeboks,’ she called over her shoulder as Mitch passed behind her.

  ‘You can’t arrest me,’ Giovanni spluttered. ‘You have no proof. You can’t have because I didn’t fucking do it,’ he blasted.

  She gave him a half smile and instructed the constables to take him to the car.

  ‘Okay,’ Bryant said. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Just wanna take a quick look around first,’ she said, moving down the hallway.

  She pushed open a bedroom doorway on her left. The room was messy, unkempt, like that of a teenager, with the smell of stale sweat and even staler food wafting towards her. The orderly uniform hanging on the door handle of the wardrobe confirmed this to be Giovanni’s room. Yeah, good luck in there, guys, she thought of the techies as she closed the door.

  By contrast the next room was tidy and ordered. The double bed was made and everything appeared to be clean.

  ‘Hmm, this is a bit strange, eh?’ she said to Bryant. ‘These two seemed to be incredibly close and when his son appears to be in some serious trouble, Mancini senior is suddenly nowhere to be found.’

  Eighty-Three

  Kim took a breath before entering interview room one. With any luck she was at the business end of a case that could not be over quick enough. A long, detailed confession in her hands to end the week was exactly what she needed right now.

  Giovanni sat on one side of the table, cuffed and alone.

  She sat, began the recorder and spoke loudly, recording herself, Bryant and Mancini as the persons present.

  ‘Giovanni Mancini, please confirm that you have waived your right to be represented by counsel during this interview,’ she said.

  ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ he said.

  ‘Would you please answer the question, Mr Mancini?’ Kim pressed.

  ‘Yes, I waived my right,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Cos, I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ he repeated, turning towards the tape recorder to tell it directly.

  She regarded him for a few seconds allowing the silence to rest between them.

  ‘Mr Mancini, where were you on Monday night?’ she asked.

  ‘Told you already. I was… we were at home.’

  ‘Would you like to reconsider and answer the question again? Maybe give it a little more thought so I can be sure you’ve identified the correct day.’

  He shook his head. ‘We were at ho
me. Me and my dad. Together.’

  ‘Thank you for answering for your father too, but I have a witness that says otherwise.’

  His face coloured. ‘Your witness is wrong or lying.’

  ‘My witness is incredibly reliable when it comes to your actions, Mr Mancini.’

  He shrugged. ‘You ain’t tying me to the murder of that arsehole,’ he said, trying to fold his arms before realising that he couldn’t.

  ‘What about Tuesday night?’ Kim asked, thinking about Saul Cordell being run off the road. ‘I’m talking late night.’

  He shrugged. ‘Can’t remember. It was days ago. Probably watching the telly.’

  ‘Did you leave home at all, fetch a takeaway, cigarettes?’

  ‘Don’t smoke and, no, I never went out.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Kim suspected she was going to be returning to his next-door neighbour to confirm that as she seemed to have a better recollection of his movements than he did. She also suspected she was going to get the same response when asked his whereabouts when Nat Mansell and her mother had been murdered too.

  Time to change direction.

  ‘Mr Mancini, is there any reason we might find tiny blue fibres on any of your garments at home, say from cleaning cloths?’

  He frowned. ‘Like them used at the hospital, microfibre or something?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered.

  He shrugged. ‘Could do, I suppose. My dad sometimes brings…’ He stopped speaking, as though his brain registered that was in fact theft. The exact thing his father had been accused of by Doctor Cordell. ‘Why, what are you saying?’ he asked.

  ‘We believe those fibres may be a match to ones found close to the wound of Doctor Cordell and, additionally, Phyllis Mansell, the mother of Nat Mansell who was the witness in the complaint against your father.’

  ‘Now, just wait a minute,’ he protested hotly. ‘Who the hell is Phyllis or whatever her name?…’

  ‘I’ve just explained that she’s the murdered mother of Nat Mansell, the surgical nurse at Russells Hall Hospital, who was found yesterday with almost thirty stab wounds to her body but never mind that for now. We’re here to talk about Doctor Cordell.’

  The colour was slowly dripping from his face.

  ‘Okay, if you can’t answer that, would you like to tell me about those Reeboks you like so much? Do those shoes belong to you?’

  ‘’Course they do. I ain’t no thief,’ he said.

  Kim was beginning to realise that Giovanni Mancini reckoned he wasn’t a lot of things, but given he denied both charges with equal vigour she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t deny being a leprechaun with the same level of passion.

  ‘And you have a receipt for them?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe… somewhere… probably,’ he said.

  ‘And where did you get them?’ she asked.

  ‘Dunno, can’t remember.’

  She looked at him disbelievingly. ‘They don’t look that old.’

  ‘Couple of months,’ he said.

  ‘But you don’t recall where you bought them?’

  His tongue popped out briefly and licked his lower lip before he shook his head.

  He was lying.

  ‘Mr Mancini, it would serve you well to remember,’ she advised.

  ‘They’re just shoes.’

  ‘That you’re not telling me the whole truth about. Now, why is that?’

  ‘Don’t remember.’

  ‘I wonder if it would help jog your memory if I gave you a bit of information about them,’ she said, opening her folder.

  ‘Made by Reebok for two years only. A total of three hundred and thirty thousand pairs sold and sixty-two of those in the UK. They are size nine, which was the third most popular size and racked up a total of seventeen thousand sales in the UK.’ She looked up. ‘They’re very helpful at Reebok HQ,’ she said. ‘They keep all kinds of interesting information, but you wanna know what they couldn’t tell me, Mr Mancini?’

  He shook his head and then answered ‘no’ for the tape.

  ‘They couldn’t tell me why the boot mark is an exact match for the footprint found on the jacket of Doctor Gordon Cordell, even though you were safe and sound at home. Now, can you help me out with that, Mr Mancini?’ she asked, sitting back in her chair.

  He met her gaze and held it for a full minute before answering.

  ‘Inspector, I think I’d like that lawyer now.’

  Eighty-Four

  ‘They’re all the same symptoms, Penn,’ Stacey said, looking at the health records of Jessie Ryan next to her brother Justin who had died aged three years and one month.

  ‘Apnoea, feeding problems, diarrhoea, asthma, fevers, everything,’ she said as a cold sensation began to work up her spine.

  ‘So, either they were unlucky enough, genetically, to have two children with the exact same medical—’

  ‘Different fathers,’ Stacey observed, wondering if that made a difference.

  Penn frowned at her. ‘Or we’re looking at a whole different scenario,’ he added.

  ‘You’re not starting to think Mrs Ryan deliberately made her children ill?’ Stacey asked although she couldn’t manage the appropriate degree of outrage or disbelief for such a claim.

  ‘I am and so are you.’

  ‘Shit. It’s definitely possible,’ she admitted.

  Penn tapped in a few keys.

  ‘Munchausen by proxy. “Where a parent fabricates, exaggerates or induces mental or physical health problems in those in their care to gain attention and sympathy”,’ Penn read, from the screen.

  Stacey recalled the tears and references to her fears and worries when Mrs Ryan had been speaking to her, and Mrs Ryan’s reaction when the neighbour had arrived. Stacey had detected a sense of pleasure and read it as relief that someone was helping to look for her child. Mrs Ryan had talked about how wonderful the medical staff had been, how they were on first-name terms.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘“Most cases present three medical problems in some combination of the 103 different reported symptoms. Most common seem to be apnoea, smothering or starvation”.’ He paused. ‘Weren’t there a few references to Jessie being underweight?’

  Stacey nodded. ‘Which they put down to the constant diarrhoea,’ she said.

  ‘Other symptoms include “failure to thrive, vomiting, bleeding, infections or rash”.’ He paused and read again. ‘“Commonly inflicted with a cheese grater”.’

  ‘What?’ Stacey exclaimed.

  ‘Easy to fake, apparently.’

  He clicked on a link and continued to read. ‘Jeez, I remember this one,’ he said. ‘A woman named Lisa Hayden-Johnson. Her son was born prematurely in 2001 and needed medical attention immediately. The woman loved the attention and sympathy from having a sick child so much that when her son started to get better she fabricated an elaborate con that he was gravely ill.’

  ‘Why is she known?’ Stacey asked, wondering where he was reading from.

  ‘This woman appeared on television, telling everyone that her son had a life-threatening food allergy that left him unable to eat and caused him to have a tube inserted into his stomach. She also said the child was confined to a wheelchair due to cerebral palsy and cystic fibrosis. She convinced the doctors he was sick, as well as the boy himself who ended up having unnecessary operations.’

  He read more and then continued. ‘Hayden-Johnson got national attention and donations poured in. Money, a car and even a cruise. Her son received a Children of Courage Award and met with politicians and royalty.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’ Stacey asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I wish I was. The con lasted for seven years, until 2007, when a paediatrician became suspicious. He ordered more specific tests and on the day of the tests Hayden-Johnson reported that she’d been sexually assaulted. When interviewed by police the whole story came out.’

  ‘And?’ Stacey asked. He’d given her the
detail and now she wanted the conclusion.

  ‘Pled guilty to child cruelty and was sentenced to just over three years in prison.’

  ‘It really is child abuse but even worse,’ Stacey said. ‘Most physical abuse entails lashing out at a child, while this takes planning and premeditation.’

  ‘Says here that health professionals are manipulated into a partnership of child maltreatment. They pursue unusual or rare diagnoses thereby allocating even more time and tests to the child.’

  He read something else silently.

  ‘Didn’t Mrs Ryan ask for a second opinion a couple of times?’ he asked.

  ‘Three, I think,’ she answered.

  ‘Common ploy if a parent isn’t satisfied with level of care as they perceive it. It’s called doctor shopping.’

  ‘Jesus,’ she breathed. She’d heard the term but had never researched it or come into contact with it before either in her life or career.

  ‘Says here the only cure is to separate the child completely from the abuser, because seeking personal gratification through illness can become a lifelong trait.’

  ‘So, if we’re right the only reason Jessie’s health improved was because Mrs Ryan was abusing her son.’

  ‘Sickening as it is she probably got more sympathy and attention for the baby.’

  Yes, it was sickening but she suspected he was right.

  ‘So, you know what this means about Justin?’ she asked.

  ‘He may have been murdered by his own mother.’

  She nodded. But more importantly, Jessie was still alive and due to go into hospital for exploratory heart surgery.

  ‘Jesus, Penn, I really hope we find her before they do.’

  Eighty-Five

  ‘I reckon I could drive to this bloody property blindfolded,’ Bryant said as they entered Hollytree for the second time that day.