A Tapping at My Door: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (The DS Nathan Cody Series) (10 page)

Vernon turns slowly and plods back inside, then enters a room at the front of the house. Cody looks at the wife, who beckons the detectives in with a nod.

As they step in, a scruffy terrier appears from behind the woman’s legs.

‘Aw,’ says Webley. ‘Look at him.’ She moves towards the animal.

‘He’s not good with strangers,’ warns Mrs Vernon. But it doesn’t stop Webley. Squatting down, she allows the dog to sniff her hand, then gives it a good scratch under the chin.

‘He’s lovely,’ she says. ‘What’s his name?’

Cody watches the woman as this is going on. She reaches her hand out, then withdraws it. It’s as if she wants to communicate with Webley, but doesn’t want to appear disloyal to her husband. It’s a posture that’s familiar to Cody. He has seen it in his own mother.

‘Frank’s waiting,’ she says simply.

Webley straightens up, smiles at Mrs Vernon, then follows Cody into the front room.

It’s a small room, sparsely furnished. Cody thinks it’s not often used. It contains a two-seater sofa, an armchair, a coffee table, and a cupboard in one of the alcoves. No heating on in here. Frank won’t want to make his visitors too comfortable. This is the room they use for people they don’t want to stay any longer than necessary.

Frank is already in the armchair, waiting to hear what is to be said. Waiting to get this over with so that he can return to his afternoon television and his mugs of tea.

Cody and Webley take their places on the settee. It sinks alarmingly under their weight, as though their arrival has taken it by surprise.

Mrs Vernon comes in behind them. Stands dutifully at her husband’s side. Puts her hand on the back of his armchair, as if posing for a family portrait.

And then a curious and unsettling thing happens. The door is pushed open once more and another figure enters. Cody catches his breath. He feels the goose bumps rising on his arms.

It’s Kevin. The dead son.

At least it looks like Kevin. Cody saw photographs in the case files before coming here, and this looks exactly like him. Tall and broad, with curly black hair and blotchy skin. Despite his size, he glides silently across the room. His parents seem not to notice, causing Cody to think only he can see this apparition. He watches speechless as Kevin takes up his place behind his father, as if to complete the family with his unseen presence while he forms the subject of their discussion.

Mrs Vernon sees the confusion on Cody’s face. ‘This is Robert,’ she explains. ‘Kevin’s older brother. He has his own place, but he spends most of his time here now.’

She strokes her son’s arm as she says this, expressing her gratitude that the only child she has left has refused to abandon them to a lonely existence.

‘You don’t need to give them all our private details,’ says Frank. ‘It’s nothing to do with them.’

He returns his attention to the detectives. Returns to his waiting.

‘There’s been an . . . event,’ says Cody, because he’s not sure what else to call it. ‘No doubt you’ll hear about it on the news, but we wanted you to hear about it from us first.’

‘What kind of . . . event?’ Frank puts the pause in the same place, mockingly.

‘A death. A homicide.’

Frank says nothing. His wife’s eyes widen as she looks first at him then back at the detectives.

‘Who?’ she asks when it seems clear that Frank plans not to. ‘Who’s been killed?’

‘A police officer. PC Terri Latham.’

Cody wasn’t sure what reaction to expect, but for a long time he gets none. The room is filled with a taut silence that threatens to snap.

‘I see,’ says Frank. ‘Do you know who did it?’

‘No. Not yet. Someone entered her property last night and attacked her. Her body was found only this morning. We’ve just started making inquiries.’

‘I see,’ Frank says again. ‘And you’re bringing this news to our door because . . . ?’

And this is where it gets tricky, thinks Cody. Watch what you say here. Choose your words carefully.

‘Because we thought you should know. And because . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Because we need to know if there’s any help you can offer us in finding her killer.’

There. I’ve said it. Now stand back and wait for the fireworks to go off.

‘Jesus Christ,’ says Vernon.

‘Frank . . .’ says his wife.

‘You people,’ says Vernon. ‘You’re all the same, aren’t you? Why can’t you just leave us alone?’

‘Mr Vernon—’

‘Get out! Get out of my bloody house, the pair of you!’

He rises from his chair. His cheeks have reddened. They’re burning now. He’s ready to explode.

Robert puts a restraining hand on his father’s arm. ‘Dad . . . ’

Vernon shakes him off. Takes a step closer to Cody and Webley.

‘How dare you? How dare you come here looking to accuse us of something we don’t know anything about?’

‘Mr Vernon, we’re not accusing you of anything. We’re here because—’

‘I know exactly why you’re here. You’re here for the same reasons you always come here. To blacken our name. To find a scapegoat, because you haven’t got the balls to take a look at yourselves in the mirror. Why can’t you ever do that, eh? Why can’t you drop the holier-than-thou attitude and accept that you’ve got some bad apples in the cart? You’re not perfect. Nobody is. One of your lot killed our Kevin. I don’t care what your so-called enquiry said. You told yourselves what you wanted to hear. Kevin was innocent. He was doing nothing wrong, and you murdered him. You want my help? You want information on who might have killed your precious policewoman? Then you try helping us for a change. You try putting yourselves in our shoes for just a few hours. Until you can do that, you can just piss off.’

He storms out of the room then. Takes his anger and his tears and his frustration away with him, leaving only the lasting echo of his outburst.

Cody and Webley stand up. Perhaps Vernon’s wife . . .

She turns wet eyes on them. ‘Why do you always have to bring it back to us?’

Then again, perhaps not.

Webley tries this time. Woman to woman. Maybe that’s best.

‘Mrs Vernon. A young woman was killed last night. Yes, she sometimes wears a police uniform. But last night she was at home. She was wearing a dressing gown, just like you and I might wear. She was watching television and drinking wine, just like anyone else might do. She was being a normal human being. And then somebody came along and took her life. It was brutal. It was violent. I saw her lying there this morning in a pool of her own blood. Her dressing gown was soaked in the stuff. She looked small and weak and vulnerable, just like any other victim.’

Webley has to take a deep breath before she can continue.

‘There was a lot of hatred directed at PC Latham when your Kevin died, and it came from many different directions. We’re not suggesting for a minute that you would have wished her to come to harm like this, but perhaps you or your husband heard something. A rumour, maybe. A casual remark. Somebody saying they’d sort her out for you. Somebody saying she would get what’s coming to her. That kind of thing. You probably wouldn’t have taken it seriously at the time, but maybe now, when you think about it, maybe it
was
meant seriously. Is that possible, Mrs Vernon? Could anyone have said something like that to you?’

Bravo, thinks Cody. She should be in the diplomatic corps. Message delivered with minimal force. No collateral damage to report.

Although Mrs Vernon’s expression suggests she is not thinking along similar lines.

‘I thought you two might be different,’ she says. ‘You’re both young.’ She jerks a thumb towards Cody, but keeps her eyes on Webley. ‘Him, he looks like he’s still at school. I haven’t seen either of you before, and because of that I thought you might not have been poisoned by some of the other coppers we’ve dealt with. I thought you might have come here with open minds. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. When you bent down and stroked Rascal in the hall, I thought, At last, a normal bobby. Someone I can connect with, have a proper conversation with. I should have known better really, shouldn’t I?’

‘Mrs Vernon—’

She halts Webley with a stern index finger. ‘No. Let me finish. Frank’s not a well man. He hasn’t been well since he lost his son. He’s a big fella, but inside he’s falling apart. When he said try putting yourselves in our shoes, he meant it. Whatever you believe happened on the night Kevin died, think about how we see it. Put to one side whether we’re right or wrong for a minute, and just see it through our eyes. And then see yourselves barging into our house, demanding that we tell you what we know about the death of this policewoman.’

‘We didn’t exactly—’

‘Did you bother to ask us how we are? How we’re dealing with things? Did you offer us any sympathy? No, because you’re too bloody selfish for that. Come in, get your information, leave. That was your plan, wasn’t it? Our feelings don’t matter. And then to suggest that we might know who did this murder. Just what kind of people do you think we mix with? I realise this isn’t the poshest bit of Liverpool, but we’re not all murdering scumbags here you know. And do you know what? Do you know what?’

She is girding herself up for something. The tears are welling in her eyes and her voice is faltering and her lip is trembling and she is about to let fly. Cody readies himself.

‘If I did know who killed that bitch, I wouldn’t tell you. God help me for saying this, but I’m glad she’s dead. There. You want someone who’d be willing to say she got what was coming to her, then here I am. That woman cheated us out of the justice we deserve. She protected a killer. And now she’s got the justice
she
deserved.’

She flies out of the room. Robert – or is it Kevin’s ghost? – finally steps out from behind the chair.

‘I’ll show you out,’ he says.

‘That’s not how we meant this to go,’ says Cody. ‘If you could talk to your parents—’

Robert puts a finger to his lips. ‘Shush now. Don’t make it worse. Don’t start thinking I’m on your side. Let’s just go, shall we?’

He ushers them into the hallway. Herds them to the front door. Standing on the front step, Cody turns one last time.

‘We didn’t come here to upset anyone. I think you know that. We’re just trying to find a murderer.’

Robert nods, but it’s a nod that says,
Yeah, right
.

‘I tell you what,’ he says. ‘Arrest and prosecute the man who murdered my brother, then maybe I’ll start to believe you.’

He closes the door. Cody and Webley head back to the car.

‘That went well,’ says Cody. ‘I love it when we manage to connect with members of the public.’

Webley frowns. ‘We made a right pig’s breakfast of that one, didn’t we?’

‘Dog’s breakfast. Or pig’s ear.’

‘Same difference. Either way, we cocked it up.’

‘Yup. So it looks like I get to keep my twenty quid.’

‘What twenty quid?’

‘You said they’d be serving you tea and cake after five minutes.’

‘Shut up and get in the car,’ she says. Then adds: ‘Sarge.’

13

They’re striding out of the police station again. Webley and Cody. Normally, this is what Cody likes. Keeping busy. Lots of legwork. Much better than pecking away at a keyboard and staring at a screen. Only this trip is to the mortuary. Not so much fun.

It didn’t use to bother him. Like most murder detectives, he became inured to the sight of death, mutilation, dismemberment. Different now, though. Inside, the butterflies are already starting to beat their wings.

He doesn’t see the men coming. They seem to swoop down from the sky. Like they have just abseiled into his path.

‘Cody!’ one of them says. ‘Good to see you again, my old mate. How’s tricks?’

Cody shakes his head. ‘Not now, Dobby. We’re busy.’

He takes satisfaction in seeing the man recoil slightly at the use of the nickname. It’s a natural enough handle in this city for anyone with the surname Dobson, but Cody is also aware that the man has become very sensitive about it ever since that Harry Potter film came out. The one with Dobby the house elf. Not that he bears any resemblance to the creature. Yes, he has Dumbo-like ears; and yes, his nose projects further from his face than is usual in anyone not named Pinocchio; and yes, his bulging eyes make him appear eternally surprised. But other than that . . .

‘Yeah, I heard you were busy. Very busy, in fact. You’re on the Latham case, aren’t you?’

Behind Dobson, another man pokes a camera lens at them. His hair is blond, but his short beard carries a hint of ginger. He wears a sand-coloured gilet and carries a backpack, and keeps clicking away like he’s on safari.

‘Who’s he?’ asks Cody.

‘This is Chris. He’s one of the best around. He’ll even make you look good, Cody.’

Says Chris, ‘I also do weddings and parties, if you’re interested.’

‘I’m not.’

Dobson turns greedy eyes on Webley. ‘What about you, Miss . . . ?’

‘It’s Detective Constable to you,’ she answers. ‘DC Webley.’

Dobson scribbles it into his notebook with a stump of a pencil. ‘So are you also looking into the death of PC Latham?’

‘No comment,’ she says.

‘Come on,’ says Cody, and they carry on walking. The reporter and the photographer chase after them.

‘Is there any truth in the rumour that Latham’s murder is connected to the death of Kevin Vernon?’

Cody doesn’t slow down. ‘There’s no such rumour, and you know it. You’re just trying to stir things. It’s the only bit of information you’ve got on Latham, so you’re putting two and two together and making five. But I’m sure that a newspaper such as yours wouldn’t stoop to printing make-believe just to sell copies.’

‘But it
is
connected with the fact she was a police officer?’

‘You don’t really expect an answer, do you? Come on, Dobby, you know better than that.’

They keep walking. Dobson keeps firing questions at them. The detectives keep dodging them. And all the while, that bloody cameraman keeps shooting images of them.

Stay calm, thinks Cody. Don’t let him ruffle your feathers, and especially not while that lens is in your face.