The next morning, Barton stepped out of the shower and strolled in just a pair of boxer shorts to his bedroom. He received a ‘Phwoar!’ from Holly and a ‘Gross!’ from Layla, who paused their argument on the landing as he passed. Layla stomped downstairs, attempting to put her foot through each step. Holly came into the room with a frown. He pulled his suit on and tried to sneak out of the room without getting involved.
‘Are you going to have a word with her?’
He stopped in the doorway. ‘What about?’
‘Her floordrobe.’
‘What the hell’s one of them?’
‘I read it in Cosmo. It’s when lazy, ungrateful daughters can’t be bothered to hang the clothes they don’t pay for in their wardrobe. They just drop them on the floor.’
Barton’s eyes strayed to the carpet of his bedroom where he tended to leave his clothes. He was tempted to say as adolescent behaviour went, it was neither unusual nor at the terrible end of the scale, but this was dangerous ground. He suspected the argument was about something else. Something he might not understand. Maybe even something he wouldn’t ever understand.
A horn outside saved him.
‘Kelly’s here. I’ll talk to Layla when I get home. Love you.’
‘Wake Lawrence before you go.’
Holly’s scowl deepened as he backed away. He nodded and opened his older son’s door. His nose wrinkled at the smell only a young man could produce. It was gone eight o’clock, and the lad remained dead to the world. Barton pushed a lock of hair from a sweaty forehead, causing the eyelids to flicker mid-dream. Barton’s dad used to bellow ‘wakey wakey’ in his ear to wake him up when he was a kid, which was a traumatising start to the day. He gently nudged Lawrence’s shoulder.
The lad smiled sleepily until he remembered he was supposed to be a grumpy teen and rolled over with a grunt. Barton sucked his teeth. Time was up.
‘Wakey wakey! Come on, son. It’s nearly tomorrow.’
Grinning, he stepped down the stairs making the same noise as Layla had. He stared through the lounge window when he was outside his house. His mum was sitting with Luke on her lap. They were laughing at a cartoon.
He got in beside Strange, who pootled along his street. Her driving speed was often a reflection of what was on her mind.
‘Morning, boss.’
‘Morning. I assume your kind offer of a lift was to save me petrol money, not to bend my ear in a place I can’t escape.’
‘Of course.’
Strange then proceeded to spend the entire journey discussing her relationship with Sirena. It was a complete info-dump. She turned to him when she’d parked up at the station and raised an eyebrow. Barton couldn’t remember there being a question within the previous five minutes. Experience stood him in good stead.
‘The important thing is, what do you think?’
She was still talking when they got to the office. Malik passed her a note, which distracted her. While she read it, Barton sneaked into his office and closed the door. His phone rang.
‘DCI Barton.’
‘But what do you think?’
Barton looked through the window at Strange laughing at him, but she got down to business.
‘Right, Ewing, Zelensky and Malik asked around the shops in Eastfield last night and we’re in the right area. Are you still meeting the father at midday?’
‘Yes. I could let Zander visit without me, but I have the feeling the case will break and I want to be there.’
Strange rolled her eyes at his inability to leave them to it.
‘You have to trust us to do the job.’
He smiled and shrugged at the same time.
‘Well, it’s up to you to decide the plan this morning,’ she said. ‘I’ve got Ewing, Leicester and Malik available. Zelensky is with me for a follow-up chat. She doesn’t seem any happier, but her timekeeping is much better. Do the others continue knocking on doors?’
Barton considered his options. He’d tried Deacon’s mobile number many times but it was never turned on, so he wasn’t confident of a result. Searching might be a waste of time, but a few hours wouldn’t hurt. Sometimes people provided information you weren’t even looking for.
‘Yes, get them out again. We could get nothing from the father at midday. Have intel found a Sue Ellen Deacon elsewhere in the country?’
‘Nope, that’s a negative. We’ll look for Deacons and Tooles in the city and cross-check against the date of birth. It’s possible she has a different name. If we get a hit in the area, it would be promising.’
‘Good idea. I’ll ring you after we’re done with the probation meeting. Anything else pending?’
‘Nope. We’re all focused on this case. I had a chat with Zander, and he feels the same. There is something we don’t like about these recent deaths. I asked Leicester about it, but he didn’t get what I was saying.’
Barton didn’t ask what she meant, because he felt it too. Experience told him there was danger in the air.
59
The Ice Killer
I wake up on my sofa. I don’t remember coming back from Trent’s. A shower helps, but I have a pinprick of darkness in my concentration. There’s a whole world out there, but all my mind wants to fixate on is this tiny dim spot. It’s the medication. That’s what they do. That dot will grow larger until my entire life is dark-grey. It’ll take away my energy and drive. What’s left will be a poor reflection of myself. No wonder nobody’s drawn to me. But I try to focus on knowing this version of Ellen is safer for everyone else.
I’m hungry for a change. With little in my fridge, I venture to the shop. They’re searching for a grungy blonde, so a black-haired lady in high boots and a dress steps from my house. I’m almost back at the flats with my purchases when I see Robert Ewing step from the doorway of the nearby terraces.
Most of us have one glorious affair in our lives. It’s an electrifying thrill to spend time with a person who puts a thousand-watt light bulb above you. Robert was my mad love. Unfortunately, I wasn’t his.
We met over four years ago. He was in uniform then – very sexy. We spent two weeks in bed with the odd break for work. I fell in a way I’d never fallen before. He oozed confidence and had so much to say. Great stories, great looks and great sex. He cut through the fuzz of my medication like no one else. Even his name was perfect. I couldn’t wait to be Sue Ellen Ewing. It would have been much better than Ellen Vickerman. We told each other we loved one another, but I struggled to articulate what he meant to me. In the end, I wrote him a letter, pouring out my heart. After that, he changed.
Sex got rougher. He wanted me to do things I didn’t want to do. I’m not a prude, but some of them hurt. It was as if normal sex wasn’t intense enough for him. He needed it to be dirtier. Better still, degrading. When I looked back afterwards, he knew I was under his spell and he could behave as he wished.
I’d spoken to Scarlett about it. She said if I loved him, I should tolerate his demands. Maybe I’d come to enjoy the deviant things as much as he did. I decided enough was enough in the hope that a show of strength would command his respect. After a further week of my refusing his sadomasochistic requests, he disappeared.
It took a long time for me to forget about him. A couple of months doesn’t seem long, but it felt as though my life hadn’t started before I met him and ended when he left. Like discovering colour TV, then having to go back to black and white. I let myself down by texting him in desperation. Months later, he texted me again and a new pattern formed. Occasionally, he’d come over. We’d have a few drinks, have sex, and he’d vanish again.
The final time, I said he could do what he wanted, but he told me it was okay. He’d met someone, and they were fulfilling those needs. Who would bring that up while having sex? His work talk was peppered with a woman called Zelensky. I assumed it was her. Finding out there was someone else helped, and I finally managed to move on.
He notices me as I walk towards him.
‘Ellen. Is
that you?’
‘Robert. Long time no see.’
‘Wow, you look amazing. Are you going somewhere?’
I’m stunned by the compliment and my mind stills. ‘I’ve been trying a new style. You know, dress fab, feel fab. That sort of thing.’
‘I like it. You still live near here?’
‘Yes, same flat.’
I realise my error immediately. Taking control of the conversation seems the best distraction.
‘Have you left the police?’
‘No, I’m a detective now. We’re looking for a woman in the area. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her.’ He shows me a grainy picture of myself.
‘There aren’t many women with long blonde hair around here,’ I joke.
‘Well, it might be a wig.’
He’s not concentrating on the photo and a hot flush comes over me. For a moment, I think it’s fear, but it isn’t. His stare always has this effect on me. His gaze is intense, but then it softens.
‘I’ve got time for a coffee,’ he says with hooded eyes.
He gives me the cheeky look that broke my heart all those years ago, and we walk towards my flat. It’s a good four hundred metres away, but we’re there before I know what’s happening. I process the idea of it. Is having sex with him going to matter? Part of me wants it more than anything, and, with the way I am now, that side of me will win.
I’m pleased that Trent isn’t leering from his window at me as I pass his flat. Next thing, Ewing and I are kissing in the hallway and up the stairs. Our lips bang against each other’s in desperation. He laughs as I manage to get my key in the door. I see the place as a stranger would observe it as we barge inside.
‘I like what you’ve done with the place, Ellen. No problem, though, my tetanus jab is in date.’
The pile of wet clothes doesn’t help, or the clutter on the worktops. I watch him take a mobile phone out of each trouser pocket and put them on the table.
‘I’ll have a quick piss, then we’ll get started.’
Did he talk to me like this before? I can’t recall. Why would I tolerate being treated in this way? One of the phones lights up. He’s clearly got them on silent. Is there anything dodgier than two mobile phones? I wander over and guess that he could have an extra one for work, when I notice the name of the incoming call.
Incredible! Actually, no, understandable. I don’t have time to process the betrayal because he returns, having removed his tie. His aloofness irritates me further. But what did I expect was going to happen? My ardour continues to cool as he undresses me. I begin to think I’d rather have a coffee. Soon, I’m naked except for my heels. He drops his trousers, not even bothering to remove them, pushes me over the sink and thrusts inside. It’s more brutal than I remember. In my current vacant state, it feels like I’m being assaulted. I turn and look back at him in pain and disgust. That always encouraged him. He slaps my thighs, hard, too hard, then pinches my arse and bares his teeth.
I feel myself detaching from the situation and going to a distant space in my head. Part of me likes the violence and wants to engage, the rest wants nothing to do with it. It’s like a spinning roulette wheel, but instead of numbers there are emotions, all of which I recognise. Sadness, lust, despair, joy, loneliness and desire go round and round. The rattling ball stops and settles on rage.
With a howl of pleasure, he comes deep inside me while yanking back my hair. The wig stays attached to my head for a few seconds, then plops off, and he’s holding it loose in front of him. His ecstatic laugh shatters my inertia. His face drops as he realises the implications. He couldn’t be in a more vulnerable state. I grab the first thing to hand, turn, then it’s me that roars.
60
Acting DCI Barton
Barton and Zander drove down the slope out of Thorpe Wood Station and were soon onto the A1 heading for Huntingdon probation office. Zander had rediscovered Smooth FM recently and turned it on. He belted out 'Walking in Memphis’ as he weaved in and out of the congested roads.
‘Not joining in, John? I’d heard your voice could stop traffic.’
‘I was thinking how the years fly by.’
‘Do you have to?’
‘Eh?’
‘I was in a good mood. Now what?’
‘This morning, before I woke up Lawrence, I watched him dreaming.’
‘Creepy.’
‘And I realised that when you’re that age, your dreams are also your hopes.’
‘Please don’t depress me, but go on.’
‘He could have been dreaming about playing for Man United, dating the hottest girl at school, getting a job he loves, or something else brilliant that might happen in the future.’
‘Maybe he was having a nightmare about a scary man in his bedroom.’
‘Don’t you see? When older people dream it’s often about things that have happened, or things that never will. His dreams still might.’
‘Speak for yourself. I’m hopeful that United will come calling.’
‘They might need you to help with match-day security.’
Zander looked across at Barton. ‘You’re a real inspiration.’
‘Thanks. I feel better now I’ve shared that. Thank you.’
Zander didn’t know the next song, but he put the volume up so it was too loud to talk.
When they arrived at the office, Deacon’s offender manager stood waiting for them. She was a lot more youthful than Barton had imagined. Nevertheless, she gave a firm handshake and briskly whisked them to an interview room where a tall, thin man with piercing eyes sat cross-legged in a seat. He appeared all legs and arms. Barton had never met a more cadaverous creature.
‘This is Ted Deacon. We’ve had our offender meeting. He came in early, but I had the time. There are no issues from our end, and he’s agreed to answer your questions.’
Barton shook his hand. It was larger than his own, but skeletal.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Barton, this is Detective Sergeant Zander. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time, but I’d like to discuss your children.’
Deacon didn’t reply, but he flinched. Sharp eyes flicked from Barton to Zander and back again. He gave a small nod. Barton continued.
‘You have two children, Lucy and Sue Ellen, is that right?’
Again, a slight incline of his head.
‘Can you tell me about them?’
‘I don’t like discussing them.’
Barton considered what leverage he had. There was plenty.
‘I’ve driven all this way for your benefit. If you aren’t going to be helpful in this environment, perhaps you’d prefer to come back to Peterborough for a few days to help us.’
The effect was immediate. Any colour in his face leached out. Barton couldn’t tell if it was through anxiety or anger.
‘Where do your children live?’
‘I have no idea. I haven’t seen them for decades. Not since I separated from their mother.’
‘I’m not inclined to believe you. We’re investigating suspicious deaths, possibly even murders. Your younger daughter’s safety should be your concern, not trying to impede my investigation by being evasive.’
Deacon’s eyes flared.
‘What’s this got to do with Ellen? Is she in danger?’
Zander seized on the name straight away. ‘We haven’t been able to locate Ellen. We’re worried about her.’
It was definitely fear on the man’s face this time.
‘Do you have children, detectives?’ said Deacon, quietly. ‘My crimes meant I had to forgo any involvement in their lives. That’s the thing I regret the most.’
Barton considered that titbit. Surely a normal person would regret more that they’d killed. He knew straight away that Deacon wouldn’t tell them anything if he thought it was incriminating.
‘Did everyone call her Ellen as opposed to Sue Ellen?’
His face lights up at the memory. ‘Yes. My wife was annoyed, because she wanted both kids nam
ed after that silly programme she loved, but even she eventually called her Ellen, unless she was naughty. Ellen was always my favourite. We were similar, you know. If I’m honest, she’s the one I think about the most.’
‘Is she still in Peterborough?’ asked Zander.
‘I assume so. Her mother lived there until she died.’
‘That was recently. Were you in touch?’
‘Very loosely. I got the odd letter from her.’
Barton’s bullshit radar sprang to life. Deacon’s answers were measured, and he spoke clearly, but it sounded rehearsed.
‘How was the funeral?’
‘I didn’t go. I told you I hadn’t seen her for a long time.’
Barton stood and gestured for Zander to step out of the room.
‘I’d just like to chat with my colleague for a minute, Mr Deacon. Bear with me.’
When they were outside, he asked Zander what he was thinking.
‘He’s lying.’
‘I agree, but about what? Hang on.’
Barton rang Strange on his mobile, who answered immediately.
‘We believe she’s going by the name of Ellen,’ he said. ‘See if that helps with the searching, but nothing more this end. Anything yours?’
‘Brilliant. We could have done with that information earlier, but that confirms what Intel have just told me. They’ve searched using dates of birth and combinations of names. They found an Ellen Vickerman, lives right in the middle of the target area at Monument Square. It’s got to be her, even though she has black hair on her licence. I was picking up the phone to ring you when I received a call from Control. ANPR cameras have picked up the sister’s car moving at speed. She’s racing up the A1 as we speak.’
‘Gotcha.’
‘Yep. If she’s on her way here, she’ll drive past Huntingdon. You’ll be able to follow her up the A1. I’ll get traffic to monitor her progress when she enters Cambridgeshire.’
‘Good idea. Let’s see if she’s alone.’
‘We don’t need to worry about that too much. It can only be a sisters’ reunion, and we now know where she lives.’
The Ice Killer (The DI Barton Series) Page 23
