DARK HOUSES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense (9 page)

“Thanks.”

Greco looked around the yard. He couldn’t see any meters but there was a small metal box fixed under the kitchen window. It was labelled with an address for social services and a phone number. The key safe. So if this house was the next target, the killer hadn’t finished his preparations.

Chapter 9

Day Three

“She swore at me.”

“Is that why you made such a flaming mess?”

“Her language was bad. I had to make her stop. I did things right — what the voices told me to.” It was alright, though.
He
was pleased.
He
was grinning back.

“Glad it wasn’t my place you trashed.”

“I couldn’t help it. I did what the voices said. I did everything right. The mess wasn’t down to me. It was her.”

“It’s okay, Neville. Just calm down.”

“Can I do another one? I’m getting the hang of it now. It’s fun.”

“We’ll see. Depends what the voices say.”

“I hear them.” Neville tapped his head. “They don’t leave me alone. They want me to do another one. You should hear what they say.”

“Take your pills, Neville.”
He
handed him a bottle.

They were small and white and they made Neville sleep. The other ones, the ones from the doctor, had made the voices go away. These made them louder. But that didn’t matter, because the voices were his friends now.

“I know who I want next. I’ve seen her.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Neville.”

“I keep thinking about it. I want to go out.”

“No. You’ll get into trouble on your own. You stay here and don’t answer the door. I’ll be back after work.”

“Will the police come?”

“No, Neville. They don’t know it’s you. They don’t know who it was. And we’ll keep it that way.”

“Can I tell them? I won’t be ‘Naff Neville’ then, will I?”

“No. You’ll be
mad Neville
and they’ll lock you up.”

“I’ve got to go to Springbank today.”

“You don’t need that place.”

“Mrs Rowcroft — Edna — says I do. She thinks going there is doing me good.” He missed Edna. She was nice. She was a big, comfortable woman and she smiled a lot. She smiled at Neville, and no one else did. “No matter how much I swear or carry on, she doesn’t shout at me. She’s on my side.”

“It’s an act. That’s what she wants you to think.
I’m
on your side, Neville, and I’m the only one who is. Understood?”

“She’ll go on at me if I don’t go.”

“I don’t want you wandering around. Like I said, you’ll get into bother.”

“I won’t.”

He
was losing it. Neville winced as
he
slammed a mug down on the table. He’d gone too far.

“Do as you’re told. Stay put and give us both a break.”

* * *

They were all in by eight the next morning, even Speedy. Tension was high. They wanted to catch the killer. Greco told the team about the key safes and set about updating the incident board. The words ‘loud music’ caught his eye.

“A woman on Pierce Street said the bloke she thought was a workman played his radio loud. It got on her nerves,” he said.

“The man in the dark overalls wearing a woollen hat,” Grace added. “We were told about him too. He spent time at the house on Archibald Street. Same man?”

Greco circled the word ‘radio.’

“Are you okay, sir? You look tired.”

Someone was bound to notice. He hadn’t slept a wink. There was too much on his mind: the case, as well as Suzy and where their relationship was going. He felt untidy, dishevelled, and it made him uncomfortable. He still needed to get his hair cut and he’d had no time to iron the shirt he’d taken from the wardrobe. Despite insisting she ironed all his stuff carefully, Suzy wasn’t careful enough.

“Lot to think about.” He tried to smile.

“We’ll get there, sir. We usually do.”

“Yes, but I’d like to get there before another young girl loses her life,” he said. “This man, Grace, do we have a description?”

“Tallish. Dark glasses, dark overalls, wearing a woollen hat. Everyone who saw him presumed he was working on the houses.”

“He hasn’t come forward. He could be our man,” said Greco.

“The sighting at Archibald Street was him preparing the next one. We need to check with the agent. No one was taking much notice until he annoyed them with his music,” said Grace.

She was right.

“A mistake? Or was he drawing attention to himself?” Greco said.

It was a mystery. Greco had no idea why he’d do such a thing. The office phone rang. It was Roxy Atkins from the Duggan.

“Inspector Greco, we had a look at all three properties last night. “I found a blood smear on the wall at Archibald Street where the safe was. Only a little, as if someone had scratched themselves removing the box. But it’s enough. I’ll run a DNA profile and check it against Jenna Proctor. If it isn’t hers, then it has to belong to whoever removed that safe. Apart from that, nothing else yet.”

“Thanks. I’ll pass it on to the team. Keep us posted.”

He turned to the team. “He’s possibly made his second mistake. Blood has been found on the wall at Archibald Street,” he said.

“What are we doing about Pierce Street?” DC Craig Merrick asked. “Do you want someone to camp out there?”

“No. They’d be noticed. Forensics has agreed to put up surveillance cameras, small ones in the sitting room and on the back wall. They can be accessed remotely over the internet. If our man shows, then we’ll know.”

“How will they get the keys?” Grace asked.

“We’ll do that this morning. Speedy and I will go back and speak to Harvey & Sons. You and Craig do some more digging. Go back and speak to Megan Hunter and Frankie Farr. Ask Frankie about the relationship, and where it was going. Megan Hunter didn’t mention the arguments, so ask her about them. Also this young man, Jack Howarth.” He handed Grace the address. “He was Jenna’s boyfriend and would have been at the Rave with her. See what he says. Ask how the evening went. It will do no harm to talk to the people at the Rave again. Keep them on their toes.” He paused for a moment. “Laycock bothers me. Someone told Mavis Weston what happened to Jessie. Was it him? If so, why would he do that?”

“Do we bring him in?”

“Not yet.”

“This lad, Jack Howarth. Does he go to the sixth form?”

“Yes. You’ll probably find him there. Speak to him and Jenna’s other friends. Find out what they remember about that night.”

“Have you seen the papers, sir?” Speedy asked.

“No, and I missed the conference. Did Laycock give you much trouble?”

“No, he was surprisingly quiet. But look what the bastard printed today.”

Greco took the tabloid Speedy handed him. They were front page news — the police, that is, not the murders.

“Trouble is, people will believe it.” Grace shook her head.

“We could do with a result, something to take the heat off,” Speedy added.

“We’re doing our best. Once forensics has done their bit, we should be in with a chance. At the moment they’re looking at paint scrapings from the car, what’s left of Jenna’s mobile and now the blood trace. Any one of those could give us a lead.”

* * *

Neville wanted to go out. It couldn’t do any harm, surely? The man who gave him the pills went out all the time. No one tried to stop him. He had to do something. The voices were driving him mad and his head was aching. Neville needed to do something to kill the voices. Anyway, Edna was waiting for him at Springbank. She’d give him tea and cake. She’d make him feel special and he liked that. She made him feel as if he mattered.

Sod it. He’d go. He just wouldn’t tell.

The noise in town was good. It stopped the voices for a while. It was the same with loud music. The radio on full blast was just perfect. Blotted out everything.

But there were too many people. Neville didn’t like crowds. He kept his head down and pulled his coat collar up around his ears. He didn’t want anyone to recognise him. He’d have to talk to them then.
He’d
said that he had to keep his nose clean or there’d be trouble. It was alright for him.
He
had a life. All Neville had were the voices and the memory of what he’d done.

“Hey, Neville! Naff Neville!”

He knew that voice. Bloody hell, now he’d get dragged into something and
he
wouldn’t like it.

“Hold up, man, where you off?”

“Nowhere.” He didn’t stop walking. He didn’t even look up. Neville didn’t like Dan Roper. He’d met him at Springbank. Edna hadn’t liked him either. She’d said he was a bully.

“Liar. You’ve got something on. Come on, Naff. Tell Dan what’s going down.”

He hated that name: Naff Neville. It’d been his nickname ever since school. Who calls their kid
Neville,
for fuck’s sake!

“Springbank House.”

What was the use? If he didn’t tell the bastard, the name calling would begin in earnest. And that would make him mad.

“That place’s for losers.” Dan sniggered. “Fancy one of these instead?”

He held out a small plastic bag of what looked like smarties. “I won’t charge. Come and have some fun.”

“I know what they are. They’re dangerous. I’m clean now, given it up.”

“Don’t give me that. You’ll never be clean. You’re an addict. Nothing but a sad little druggie.”

He was sneering. Neville didn’t like that. Dan wanted to get him high on those pills and make him do things.

“Come on, let’s give those kids in the park some grief.”

Dan whacked him on the back of the head.

“Can’t. You should leave me alone.”

Dan laughed. “Why, Naff? You dangerous all of a sudden?”

If only he knew. Neville tried to smile. He was seriously tempted to tell him the truth. That would shut him up. But if he did that, he’d have to do him to keep him quiet.

“You can spare half an hour,” Dan insisted. “I’ve got pills and beer. Look.” He produced two cans from his coat pocket.

“I fancy a beer, but I’m not allowed to drink.”

“You’re not a kid. You’ve a mind of your own. C’mon. Down by the skating rink?”

“Yeah. Alright.” The beer had swung it.

They made their way through the park gates, past the play equipment and onto the rink. No longer for roller skaters, it had been converted for skateboards. It was all stainless steel and ramps. Neville stared at it, his mouth open. Why did things have to change all the time?

“Good, aren’t they?” Dan handed him a can while they watched the young boarders do their stuff.

“Fancy a go?”

Stupid question. Neville shook his head and took a hefty swig from the can.

“Go on. Show ’em what you can do. I dare you. Get it right, and I’ll give you some of these.” He waved the pills.

He was taking the piss again. Things never changed.

“I’ve got to go.”

“We’ve only just got here.”

Dan shook the bag of pills in front of his face again. “Cheer you up a bit.”

“What are they?” Neville eyed the pink pills with suspicion. They could be anything. No way was he going to risk it.

“Legal highs. You need to chill, mate.”

“I’m off.” He stood up and lobbed the half-full beer can at the kids on the rink. They hurled a torrent of abuse at him as he walked away. Neville covered his ears. He didn’t want to hear. Dan followed. He leapt about behind Neville, shouting, calling him names, teasing him.

Neville was angry. It always ended this way. He’d been the target of all the morons in town for long enough. These people understood only two things — fear and power. Trouble was, no one was scared of Neville. Well it was time to show them he could fight back. It was time Dan learned who was in charge. Neville fingered the knife in his coat pocket. Why had he brought it? He smiled. The voices had told him to. They’d said it would make him feel better, and they were right.

Dan was on a roll. He was right at Neville’s back, yelling and swearing. If Neville didn’t do something he’d follow him right up to the doors of Springbank. He’d frighten Edna. Neville had to make him stop. They’d reached a copse of trees at the far end of the park. Neville was out of breath now and had to stop. But he’d worked it out. He knew what he had to do. The voices were back. They were on his side, egging him on to sort Dan for good. He’d spoil his afternoon with Edna and Neville couldn’t have that.

Neville looked around. There was no one about. He turned slowly. One lunge and it was all over. The noise stopped. The look on Dan’s face was priceless.

* * *

“I need to understand how your business works, Mr Harvey.” Greco sat in the estate agent’s office. “Who does the valuations? Who has access? Who shows any interested parties around?”

They were simple enough questions, surely? So why the blank look? The property business was hardly the secret service. “You sell houses, Mr Harvey. Just tell me how you go about it.”

“Well . . . it varies.” Harvey was looking horrified. “These murders, surely you don’t think one of my staff is involved? We’re a tight team. I’ve known them all for years. Mrs Hardy on the front desk, for example, she’s been with me for over two decades.”