DARK HOUSES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense (7 page)

“We’ve got a messy one on our hands,” he said. “The press aren’t helping. We can’t give them too much because it would jeopardise the case when it comes to court. But they never stop. I don’t know how they get wind of half the stuff. We’re dealing with the locals at the moment — the
Herald
mostly. But the nationals could get hold of it. The case will turn into a circus if they do.”

“You need to relax more.”

“When this is over. I’ll probably be late home tonight,” he said.

Her face fell.

“You’re not yet forty,” she said. “I know you’re good at it, but I also know how badly it affects you. I’ve seen how much you put into the job, how obsessed you get. But you should be enjoying life. It worries me that all you do is work and fret.”

“I’m okay. Really,” he said. But he could tell from her face that she didn’t believe it. “Murdered girls . . . what am I supposed to do? The details are too terrible to tell you. The crime scenes are like something out of a bad horror film. Someone is really going to town, Suzy, and he needs to be caught.”

“Okay. I’ll keep something hot. Perhaps we can go out at the weekend. I can organise a babysitter. All you have to do is say yes.”

“Go ahead. We’ll have a meal at that place you like, by the river,” he said. “Come on then, Tillyflop. I’ll carry Mortimer to the car.”

* * *

The Hudsons lived on a leafy avenue in an area between Oldston and Leesworth. As he pulled up, a silver hatchback was about to drive away. Greco got out and waved for the car to stop. The occupant was a woman in her forties.

“Mrs Hudson?”

She nodded. “What is it? You’re blocking my way.”

“Can I have a word? Inside perhaps? Is there anyone else at home?”

“What is this? Who are you?”

Greco showed her his badge.

“My husband is in, but Rosa is still in bed I’m afraid.”

Greco stared at the woman. “Are you sure? Have you looked in on her this morning?”

“Yes, of course I have. I’ve even been in with a mug of coffee, but she was snoring her head off. Inspector, has she done something? She’s not in trouble, is she?”

The dead girl had had Rosa’s driving licence with her.

“Is this hers? Are you sure the girl in the photo is your daughter?” He showed her the mobile phone picture he’d taken of the document.

“Yes, that’s my Rosa. She’s having lessons. Is that what this is about?”

“No. It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. I need to speak to her at once.”

“Come inside and I’ll get her up. Whatever this is, I’m sure she’ll have an explanation. She always does.”

The house was warm and comfortably furnished. There was a view of Oldston Park through French doors at the back.

“Sit down,” Mr Hudson told him. He was sitting on the sofa reading the morning paper. “There’s still hot coffee in the pot if you’d like some.”

Greco shook his head.

“What’s she been up to now? It’s not her driving again, is it? She’s having lessons, but Rosa doesn’t seem to get any better.”

He heard someone thumping their way down the stairs.

A teenage girl walked into the room.

“Where did you find it? I told her not to let it out of her sight. She knows how important it is.”

Rosa Hudson looked about the same age as the murder victim. She had long fair hair and was swathed in a fleecy dressing gown.

“Okay. I’ll fess up,” she said to Greco. “I lent it to Jenna yesterday at school. She needed ID to get into the club. She isn’t eighteen yet.” She wrinkled her face. “I’m not in trouble, am I? For doing that? It’s no biggy. Everybody does it.”

“Jenna who?”

“Jenna Proctor. Why, what’s she done?”

But the girl wasn’t paying attention. She walked over to the French doors and waved to someone in the park.

“Charlie’s waiting for me. I’d better get ready.”

“Do you have Jenna’s address?”

“She won’t be up yet,” Rosa said. “She’ll still be wasted from last night.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this but Jenna is dead,” Greco said. “I need to see her parents as quickly as possible.”

The girl took hold of her mother’s arm. “Did she have an accident? She didn’t take something at the club? I’m always warning her about that. You can get hold of anything there. Some of it is lethal. Is that what happened?”

Greco caught the father’s eye.

“Tell us what happened. The two of them were close friends,” said Mr Hudson.

“Jenna was murdered,” Greco said. “Since she had your ID, I take it you weren’t with her last night?”

The girl shook her head. “I work part-time and I couldn’t get the night off.”

“Do you know who she went out with?”

“A whole bunch of them were going to
the Rave
club in town. There will have been loads. You should ask at school, the sixth form.” She thought for a moment. “I think Jack was picking her up. He’s soft on her.”

“Jack who? Does he go to the sixth form too?”

“Yes.”

“And do you know where he lives?”

“He lives two houses up from Jenna. Their road isn’t far from here.”

Rosa’s dad had already written down the address. “Go back to the main road, then take the second left. The Proctor house is the detached stone one.”

Chapter 7

“Grace, you take Archibald Street with Craig and I’ll do this one with a couple of PCs,” Speedy told Grace.

They were stood on Arnold Street, ready to knock on doors. Speedy groaned. He looked furious.

“Every door, this time. We need to speak to as many of the residents as possible,” he said.

“You need to cheer up,” Craig said. “No one’s going to talk to a face like that. And while I’m at it, you should try to get on better with the boss too.”

“Save it, Merrick. Right now I’m too bloody mad. This bastard is running rings around us. I’m only sticking with the job because he needs catching, it’s that simple. He’s got to get his and quick.” Speedy began hammering loudly on the first door. No answer. He banged again.

“How are you doing?” Grace held out a flask to him.

“It’s a waste of time. We won't get anything from this lot. When they do answer the bloody door, they wind me up. Questions, that's all I get. They’re fishing for info to sell, and sod what’s happened to those poor girls. Wait until I see that bloody Laycock. What about you?”

“Nothing that we don’t know already. The people who live on Archibald Street are like those monkeys — see nothing, hear nothing and the other one.” She smiled. “Coffee? Warm you up.”

“What have you done with Craig?”

“Ernest Talbot’s bending his ear. He’s an old windbag. Just keeps going on about the press and how we should get them on our side.”

“I’m going back to the station,” Speedy said. “I’ve had enough.”

“You can’t do that. Greco will expect some results. What’s wrong, Speedy? You’re a right misery these days.”

“The truth is, I’ve had it. With this town, with the people in it, but most of all with this bloody job.”

“We all get days like that, and this case is a bad one.”

“This isn’t just one of those days, Grace. I can’t do this anymore. I feel like my whole bloody life is going down the pan. I hate the job. I’m sick and tired of how it keeps kicking me in the guts.”

“Tell Greco. Tell him how you feel. Tell him why you’re not happy with the job.”

“If I do that, he’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

“No he won’t, Speedy. Greco’s not like that. He’ll try to help. He’s a good guy, he’ll understand.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“He does have a different side, Speedy. He’s not all ‘intense detective,’ you know. You should try and see what is beneath the surface. Part of it’s his uneasiness with people.” She paused. “C’mon, Speedy, you know what he’s like. He doesn’t do emotions very well. But under all that stiff upper lip stuff is a compassionate family man. I know he will understand.”

“I reckon you’re talking about a different bloke.”

“At least think about it. What harm can it do? Right now you’re down and not thinking straight. You’ve got to speak to someone. Your job’s important. There’s nothing else for you out there.”

“Don’t you think I haven’t realised that? It scares the hell out of me.”

“Come on, I’ll help you do this street. It won’t take long with the both of us.”

“Thanks, Grace. But talk to Greco? I don’t fancy that.”

“You’re the police.” A middle-aged man greeted them at the next door. He was drying his thinning hair with a towel. “Disturbed my beauty sleep the other night you lot did. So what d’you want now?”

“There’s been a murder in one of these houses,” Speedy said, showing his badge. “Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

The man sighed. “This is a quiet street as a rule, but there’s been a lot of coming and going lately. Down there at number eight, that’s where you mean, isn’t it? The bloke next door told me the news earlier this morning.”

Speedy nodded.

“A man in a dark car was there over the weekend. He had ladders and wore dark overalls. I presumed he was giving the place a coat of paint.”

“Can you describe him?”

“No more than forty, tall and he wore a hat, a woollen thing that covered his hair. Darkish glasses.”

“Did he stay long?”

“At least an afternoon. Sunday, I think it was. He was a noisy bugger, I know that. He had his radio on dead loud the whole time.”

“He had a key?”

“He must have done. The thing is, I saw the car again last night. It was turning out of the street and making for the town centre. I work odd hours and he passed me as I was coming home. I remember because he knocked my wing mirror and didn’t stop.”

“What sort of car was it?”

“A Ford Focus, an older one, dark blue. I know the colour because it left paint scrapings on my car.”

“You’ll need to give a statement, and our forensic people will take a look at your car. Is that okay?”

The man nodded. One of the uniformed officers followed him into the house.

“That was good information. Now we should speak to the woman witness, the neighbour on Archibald Street,” said Grace.

“What are you hoping for?”

“She may be able to confirm what he’s just told us.”

“I tried earlier but got no reply,” said Speedy.

“We’ll try again and if we still get nowhere, then we’ll come back.”

“Everything’s dead easy for you, isn’t it?”

“No, Speedy, it’s not. This job is all about persistence and bloody hard work.”

He had no answer to this. “Okay, we’ll go back and join Craig. We’ve covered this street now, anyway,” he said.

When they returned, Craig Merrick had managed to raise the woman’s husband.

“We’ve been expecting you,” he said. “Neither me nor the wife has gone to work today. No way could I go. I’m still shaking, and I heard there was another one the day before.”

“You told an officer that your wife saw someone leave out the back way,” said Speedy.

“Yes. I did.” A woman appeared in the hallway. “Creeping about, he was. He had on dark clothing and a woollen hat. I didn’t see his face, it was too dark.”

“Was he tall, short, overweight?” Speedy asked.

“Tallish, although not as tall as Bert here,” she said.

“How long has the house been empty?” Grace asked.

“About two months. When the dementia got worse, old Mrs Johnson couldn’t cope anymore. She never had kids so she went into the care home.”

“The one by the park?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Grace looked at Speedy. The previous occupants of both houses were living in the same care home. Could it be another piece of the puzzle? But how did it fit? Craig had been right. He wasn’t invisible, people had seen him. Their descriptions tallied. The problem was, no one had recognised him. So he wasn’t from these streets.

* * *

Greco had parked outside the Proctor house. He sat in the car, staring at the stone walls and imposing double door front entrance. There were two cars on the driveway, and both were large and expensive. He sighed. He couldn’t put this off any longer. It would be hard, but he had to get it done.

He was halfway up the drive when a woman appeared at the front door.

“Is it about Jenna?”

She was dressed for work in a suit and high heels, and looked to be in her mid-forties.

“The girl’s got no thought for anyone but herself. I told her to tell me if she was staying out. I was up and down the road last night looking for her. She has me worried sick when she does this.”

“Mrs Proctor?”

She blinked, and backed away from him slightly.

“I’m DI Greco from Oldston CID. Can we talk?”

She gave him a nervous smile and led the way inside.

“My husband has already left for work. She’s not got herself locked up or something, has she? I’ve got a meeting in half an hour. Stupid girl.”

“Are you here on your own?”

“Jonathan!” she called.

Seconds later a tall, skinny youth with long hair appeared at the end of the hallway. “It’s Jenna. She’s been up to her tricks again,” she said.

“Mrs Proctor, perhaps you should sit down.”

She began to shake. She gazed at Greco, as he tried to formulate his words.

“Tell me. Just tell me. What can she have done to bring
you
here?”

“I’m afraid Jenna has been killed, Mrs Proctor. I’m very sorry.”

The youth put an arm around her shoulder and led her down the hall to the lounge. She wailed and clung to him. Greco followed.

Jonathan Proctor helped his mother sit down. He turned to look at Greco. “You’re wrong, I know. This is some sick joke. She’s getting back at Mum for being such a cow to her last night.”

“Jenna has been murdered,” Greco said. “We found her body this morning, in a house in Oldston.”

“Murdered . . ?” Jenna’s mother said. “Why? Why my Jenna?”

“We don’t know,” said Greco. “Do you know where she went last night?”

“The Rave club in town,” Jonathan replied. “She loved the place. So did half her school year. Ask them.”

“Oh, I will,” Greco said. “When did you last hear from her?”

“We spoke on the phone, late last night,” said Mrs Proctor. “It must have been about midnight. She was on her way home — a taxi, she said. We have an arrangement. Whenever she gets a taxi at night she’s supposed to text me a photo of the licence plate. But last night she didn’t. I waited. I’d already been out looking for her. When she didn’t text, I got annoyed. On weekdays she’s allowed out until eleven and no later. We had words and Jenna lost her temper. I presumed she’d gone home with one of her friends.”

“I’m going to arrange for a female officer to come and look after you,” said Greco. “She’ll keep you informed of progress. Are you okay with that?”

Her eyes met his. “Murdered? I don’t understand. Why my Jenna? What’s she ever done to deserve that?”

“She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mrs Proctor.” Greco paused. “Are you up to making a formal identification?”

“Yes.” She sat up straight then, and took hold of her son’s hand. “You’ll come with me, won’t you, Jonathan? We can say goodbye.”

“I’d also like an up-to-date photo of her, please.”

She went over to the window and took one from a frame on the sill. It showed a teenager with blonde hair and a pretty smile. She looked carefree, happy.

Back in his car, Greco rang Grace and told her about the girls and the mix-up over their identity. “Would you pass the information on to the Duggan? Did you get anything?”

“A little. A man, a stranger, was seen on both streets over the weekend. Two witnesses gave the same general description and he drives a Ford Focus. Also the previous occupants of both the houses are now in the Park House care home. There could be something in that.”

“Would you ring them? See what they can add — and well done. We’ll go through it when all the team are back. I’m making my way into town to visit the Rave club. Would you ask Speedy to join me there? And would you dig out a young man called Jack Howarth? This is his address. Ask him to come in and have a word with us.”

* * *

It was mid-morning by now and Oldston was busy. The traffic on the ring road leading into town was building up. As Greco drove, he spotted an advertising hoarding for the current issue of the
Herald
. It read: ‘
Police Haven’t a Clue.’
Perhaps it was time to speak to them.

The Rave was in part of a disused warehouse just outside the town centre. In daylight it looked unprepossessing, a large square hulk of crumbling red brick with a flat roof. No doubt the entrance looked more impressive in darkness. It had multi-coloured lights strung around it. There were neon signs, and gaudy posters along the wall advertised forthcoming gigs.

Greco banged on the doors. There was no response. The place was locked up tight.

“I bet they don’t roll in until after lunch. They don’t close until the small hours, remember,” said Speedy, walking over to join him.

“There must be someone here, even if it’s just to clean up from the night before,” said Greco.

“I’ll try round the back.”

Minutes later Speedy opened the doors and let Greco in. “Cleaning woman. She says the boss will be here shortly.”

Greco walked into a huge chasm of a room. There were no windows and few seats.

“Where do they drink?”

“The bar is in the far corner. See the tall tables over there? They stand around them. There are booths for people to sit in but you probably have to reserve them,” said Speedy.

The booths consisted of heavily worn fake-leather sofas in semi-circles, with metal tables in the centre.

“The kids aren’t bothered what the place looks like. They come here to dance and listen to the music. They chat and they drink. No one sits down much. This isn’t a pub, sir.”

The floor was concrete and sticky with spilt drinks. “This place should be condemned. It’s not fit to allow the public in,” said Greco, looking at them dubiously.

“Once the lights are down low and the smoke machine gets going, no one notices the difference. You must have been young once?” Speedy smirked. “Don’t you remember what it was like?”