by Michael Wood
‘How were Clive and Serena on that day?’
‘They were the dutiful parents.’
‘Would you know of anyone who would want to kill them?’
‘I’m sure there are many people who would have happily done away with Clive, but not his son, and certainly not his wife.’
‘I get the feeling Clive Mercer was one of those people where you’d want to slap his face as soon as you looked at him,’ Ranjeet said as they made their way back to the car.
‘Yes, but is that a reason to kill him?’ Aaron asked.
‘I don’t know. If he’d rubbed someone up the wrong way, really riled them up, maybe.’
‘But why kill Serena, and why Jeremy?’
Ranjeet frowned as he tried to think of an answer. ‘Because they were there.’
‘So then why leave Rachel alive?’ Aaron asked, getting behind the wheel.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Although,’ Aaron began, ‘if Clive had used his influence, his cunning, to get out of being prosecuted by the GMC, maybe the families of the patients might have had a reason to kill him.’
‘But again that leaves us with the question of why kill Serena and Jeremy yet leave Rachel alive,’ Ranjeet said.
Aaron started the car but Ranjeet stopped him.
‘Hang on a minute, let’s try and work this out. The killer was obviously pissed off at the whole family but didn’t have a big enough grudge to kill the little girl. So, who did Clive, Serena and Jeremy have a shared dislike in? Who didn’t they like?’
Aaron frowned. ‘Oh my God!’ he exclaimed. ‘The man marrying into the family.’
‘Oliver Ridgeway? But he was in Paris with Leah.’
‘Wanting someone dead doesn’t mean actually going through with it. His honeymoon is the perfect alibi.’
‘But what’s the motive?’
‘That’s what we need to find out. We crack Oliver, we find the killer.’
Chapter Forty-One
Following the evening briefing, Matilda closed the door to her tiny office and slumped into her chair. She had a headache. It seemed Clive Mercer had a queue of people who would happily see him breathe his last, but only kind words were said about Serena and Jeremy. Sian’s contact in Liverpool had been in touch. He had spoken to Jeremy’s colleagues who said he only had two things in his life – his work and his daughter. He had little time for anything else. His neighbours said he was a quiet man who doted on Rachel. Jeremy didn’t know many people, but the ones he did were all his friends.
So, the question of motive still remained unanswered. Clive was the centre of the crime, but why not wait until he was alone and knock him over or hit him on the head from behind? Why did Serena and Jeremy have to die too? That was the head scratcher. That was why Matilda was now rummaging through her desk drawers trying to find some paracetamol.
Towards the end of the briefing, Aaron had brought up Oliver Ridgeway. Did he have some secret that Clive, Serena or Jeremy had found out? Was he worth trying to break? Matilda and Scott looked at each other. They both knew Oliver’s secret. But who else knew?
She found a blister pack of paracetamol in the bottom drawer but there was only one left. She had no idea how long it had been there. Did paracetamol have a best before date? She shrugged and dry swallowed it.
Her mobile started to ring. She dug it out of her pocket and looked at the display. No Caller ID.
‘Hello?’ she answered. She sounded tired and listless. That was probably because she was.
‘Is that DCI Darke?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Keith Lumb. I believe you’re looking for me.’
Matilda’s headache was soon forgotten. She sat up and quickly rooted around on her desk for a pad and pen to take down anything that may be important.
‘That’s right, I am. Where are you calling from, Keith?’ She tried to listen to anything in the background, but it was a muffled.
‘I’m calling from a phone box.’
‘OK. Where are you?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just can’t. Look, I don’t have much time. I know you’ve been to see my sister. She gave me your number. She said you might be able to help me.’
‘Help you? How?’
‘I’m not a killer, DCI Darke. I’ve not led the best life so far. I’ve stolen; I’ve broken into people’s homes; I’ve driven without a licence and without insurance. I’ll put my hand up to all of that, but I have never murdered anyone. I promise you,’ he said with firm determination.
‘Why were you at the Mercers’ house on Sunday night?’
‘I wasn’t,’ he said, his voice pleading.
‘We have evidence to suggest you were.’
‘I don’t know how because I wasn’t even in Sheffield on Sunday night.’
‘Then where were you?’
He was about to say something but instead he sighed. ‘What’s the point? In your eyes I’m guilty. I’ve seen the news. You’ve told the whole world I killed three people.’
‘No, we haven’t. You’re a person of interest. You might have seen something.’
‘How can I have seen something when I wasn’t even there.’
‘Keith, why don’t you come into the station and we can talk about this properly.’
‘No way. Look, you’re not fitting me up for this. I did not kill the Mercers. I’ve never killed anyone. Do you understand that?’
Before Matilda had a chance to reply, Keith had ended the call.
She sat back in her chair and squeezed the bridge of her nose. The headache was pulsing. Keith hadn’t left a number but it was easy to track the call. She’d need Valerie to give the go-ahead from the phone company but that wasn’t a problem. Even if he was calling from a phone box, they’d have his location. She dialled ACC Masterson and, as she waited for the call to connect, she couldn’t help but go over the conversation she’d just had. Keith was adamant he was innocent. It was obvious he didn’t have an alibi for Sunday night, so why was he protesting his innocence?
‘Because he is innocent,’ Matilda said to herself.
Scott was sitting in his car with the heater turned up and the engine off. He’d been sitting in the car park of a supermarket, tucked into the corner with the recycling bins, for what seemed like ages as he agonized over what to do next. Aaron mentioning Oliver possibly having a secret he was hiding from the Mercer family was too close to the truth and Scott was tying himself up in knots. He needed to do something constructive, for the sake of his own sanity rather than anything else. He’d deleted his profile on the dating app and quickly created a new one. Instead of using his own photo he used one of Chris. He hated himself for doing so but it was the only way to flush out Oliver. He had found a picture in his phone of Chris in his running gear. It showed his firm stomach, his strong legs and muscular arms. It would definitely get Oliver’s interest.
Scott scrolled through the men who were nearby looking for Oliver’s profile. He found it. He was three kilometres away and there was a green dot on his photo. He was online. Scott took a deep breath. His fingers were cold. He was shaking. He sent him a message. It didn’t take long for Oliver to reply.
Cute pic.
Thanks.
What are you looking for?
Fun. You?
Same. You accomm?
Not tonight I can’t.
You into outdoor?
Sure. Where?
Weston Park?
OK. When?
6
See you there.
Scott felt sick. He had no idea what Oliver was like as a person. He was the kind of man who was leading a double life, hiding his sexuality from his wife. How would he react when he found out he had been duped? Did he have a temper? Maybe Scott should take someone with him for support, but who? There was nobody he could confide in.
He would have to do this alone.
Less than ten minutes after Matilda had put t
he request in to the phone company who provided the network for her mobile, than her phone rang her with the result. Keith had indeed called her from a phone box. It had the 01622 dialling code, which was the code for Maidstone in Kent. It would seem that Keith was trying to flee the country. That didn’t help Keith’s claim that he was innocent.
Matilda phoned Valerie who contacted the chief constable of Kent Police and asked them to launch a manhunt as there was a potential murderer in their area. Keith’s details were sent down and all local media were to be informed. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before he was caught and on his way back up to Sheffield for questioning.
Keith had made a mistake. He knew DCI Darke wouldn’t understand. All coppers were the same. They didn’t care about the truth; they just wanted a result. Someone had placed him at the scene of the murders; he had no idea who or how but they had. So, as far as South Yorkshire Police was concerned, Keith Lumb was obviously guilty. The chances of him getting out of the country now were slim to impossible. He’d have to remain in Britain, but away from the ports, train stations and airports as they were the obvious places they’d look for him.
It was getting dark and it was getting cold. He didn’t relish spending another night curled up in a bus stop or a vandalized phone box trying to keep warm. He couldn’t survive on the streets for much longer, but he didn’t have anywhere to go. He couldn’t go to Elizabeth’s, especially now DCI Darke had been round; she’d keep visiting and pushing his sister until he was found.
‘Fuck,’ he shouted to release some of the pent-up aggression he was feeling. How had he managed to get himself into this impossible situation? He was a petty thief, a burglar. All of a sudden, he’s Britain’s most wanted man.
He ran into a motorway service station and accosted the first driver he saw getting into his truck.
‘Here, mate, you couldn’t give us a lift, could you?’ He sounded desperate. He looked desperate. He didn’t care if the driver was a rapist or a murderer, he’d take his chances.
‘Where you are heading?’ the man asked in a thick Scottish accent.
‘I don’t care. Anywhere,’ he replied.
‘Who are you running from?’
‘The girlfriend’s husband,’ he said, not knowing where that came from.
The trucker laughed. ‘I know that feeling,’ he said, lifting up his left hand and showing the white mark where his wedding ring used to be. ‘Get in.’
‘Cheers, mate. Where are you heading?’
‘Back up to Glasgow. Far enough for you?’
A smile spread across Keith’s face. ‘Perfect.’
Elizabeth Lumb was sitting in the armchair opposite the television. On her lap was a wooden tray with a simple meal of a mini quiche, four boiled potatoes and a handful of green beans. She picked at it carefully with her cutlery.
The local news came on and started with the story of South Yorkshire Police hunting for her brother.
‘Have you seen this?’ she called, aiming her voice out of the living room. ‘They’ve got Keith down as some kind of serial killer. I liked Serena, I really did. She didn’t deserve this. I hope Mum isn’t watching this. It’ll break her heart. Do you think I should go over there tomorrow, fill her in on everything that’s happening?’
She waited for a reply, but one didn’t come. She never received a reply.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sian was late leaving work. She had been in conversation with a man from the GMC who had the dullest voice she had ever heard. He also insisted on giving her every single detail of all three occasions Clive Mercer had been brought to their attention. By the time she put the phone down, she was the last one in the HMET suite. Even Matilda had left for the day. She called Stuart and told him she’d be late home, tidied her desk, put on her coat and headed for the stairs.
‘You’re late going home, Sian,’ the sergeant on the front desk commented. ‘I thought everyone had already left.’
‘I’m beginning to get jealous of Kesinka going on maternity leave in a few months.’
‘It must be bad,’ he laughed. ‘How is Kes? I heard she’d had a fall.’
‘She’s fine. She’ll be back at work on Monday. Sam, what’s that smell?’ She wrinkled her nose and lowered her voice for fear of offending someone within earshot.
‘You’re going to regret asking that question,’ he said with a smile.
‘Why?’
‘DS Sian Mills? Is that you?’ A loud voice came from the other side of the reception area.
‘Oh God, no. I don’t need this. Not now,’ she said through gritted teeth. She turned around and saw two women approaching her. Both were in their mid-forties but were dressed much younger. They wore far too much make-up and whatever fragrance they had sprayed on themselves was strong enough to strip paint. The contrasting smells congealed to make one very pungent aroma.
Bev and Sarah were well known to South Yorkshire Police. They were prostitutes who plied their trade on the outskirts of the city centre. They had been walking the streets for years and looked out for each other, especially the younger, more vulnerable girls. Whenever they saw police they didn’t shy away or hurl abuse. They were old hands at this game and knew they were there to protect them.
Bev stepped forward. She was wearing shiny black leggings, high heels that were far too high for her to walk on and a low-cut top that revealed a sagging bosom and a wrinkled chest. She had a black quilted jacket over the top which was hanging off her shoulders. Her skin was the colour of leather. It was difficult to work out if it was the grime of the Sheffield streets having tinted her over the past twenty years or whether she was using a cheap fake tan.
‘We’ve lost another one,’ she said. Her heavy local accent was deep; the effects of the copious amounts of cigarettes she had smoked. ‘Danielle. She was only with us three weeks, wasn’t she, Sarah?’
Sarah, standing slightly behind her, nodded. ‘A month tops,’ she said. Sarah didn’t ooze as much confidence as Bev. She wasn’t as brash and showy and often allowed Bev to do the talking for her.
‘She says she’s nineteen but we reckon she’s younger than that, don’t we, Sarah? She’s got a Geordie accent. She’s small, slim and very pretty. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her for days.’
‘Maybe she’s gone home.’ Sian shrugged, standing back to avoid the smell of cheap perfume.
‘And maybe she’s lying at the bottom of the River Don. You need to do something about this, Sian. Do you know how many have just disappeared in the last couple of years? Six. People don’t just disappear.’
Sian took a deep breath. At this rate she wouldn’t be getting home until midnight. ‘Come through to an interview room. I’ll take some details. Sam, can you fix us a few drinks?’
Scott spotted Oliver straight away standing under the shelter of trees by the tennis courts. It was past six o’clock and pitch-dark. Few people were using the park apart from the odd dog walker and the late finishers who used the park as a cut-through to the main bus route outside the Children’s Hospital.
As Scott approached, he looked at Oliver who stood with his hands in his pockets, head high, shoulders back. He oozed confidence. Why had he decided to get married if he was gay? He wasn’t being fair to Leah, or himself.
Everything in his logical brain was telling Scott to turn around and go home. This was a bad idea. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and headed over to the junior doctor. He was still wearing his work suit, and his smart shoes echoed around the empty space.
‘Oh look, it’s the gay detective,’ Oliver said. ‘I should have known it was too good to be true. The guy in the photo was far too handsome to be real. So, why are you here? No, let me guess. You repress your feelings while you’re at work but once you clock off you realize you’re a red-blooded male just like the rest of the world and fancied some fun?’
Scott was not a violent man, but he had a sudden urge to knock that smirk of his face.
‘I just wanted to talk.’
‘Typical. You’re one of those – all talk and no action.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what?’
‘Going behind your wife’s back like this. Why get married at all?’
Oliver stepped forward so he was almost nose to nose with Scott. ‘That is none of your fucking business,’ he spat.
‘It could be. I’m looking into the murders of your wife’s family. We’re trying to find a motive. I think if your father-in-law found out what you were doing behind his daughter’s back and confronted you with it, that’s all the motive you’d need.’ Scott tried to sound confident but his shaking voice betrayed him.
Oliver rolled his eyes. ‘That’s a shame. You’re a very good-looking bloke. As usual, pretty but dumb,’ he said with a smile. ‘You seem to be forgetting, pretty boy, that I was in Paris when my wife’s family were murdered.’
‘You’re not the type to get your hands dirty. In fact, you’re the type to set the whole thing up. Let me see if I’m right, here,’ he said, finding the confidence from somewhere. ‘You’ve always wanted to be a doctor but you’re not cut out for all the hard work. You’ve seen Leah’s parents with their big house, fancy cars, and you want that. However, you don’t want to work for it, you want it now. So you arrange for your in-laws to be killed while you’re out of the country. The perfect alibi.’
Oliver mockingly laughed. ‘You’re wasted in the police force. You should be writing for soap operas. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Where do you look for a killer? Do you put an advert in the newsagents’ window? Is there a special page on Facebook where you can advertise your services?’
Scott stepped forward. ‘You killed them. I know you did. And I’m going to prove it.’
‘You can’t prove a negative. I was in Paris,’ he repeated with a smile. ‘I was just as shocked as Leah by what happened.’
‘And what if Leah found out about what you get up to behind her back? How long do you think your marriage will last then? I imagine she’ll apply for divorce before the contents of the will have been revealed. Actually, I think she may even be able to get the marriage annulled. She could be a free woman within a week. And then where will you be?’
