Child’s Play: A totally unputdownable serial killer thriller, page 16
Ultimately, he was the arresting police officer of a murderer visiting that murderer during the course of the trial. Oh, absolutely no codes of practice being broken there.
It didn’t matter that the murderer in question looked none too pleased to see him as the guard pointed him out.
‘What the fuck you want?’ he asked, sitting down. His Russian accent was slightly thicker than his wife’s.
Although Penn noticed that he’d aged in the time since they’d last spoken. Faint lines had appeared at the corner of his eyes. His ruddy, healthy outdoor complexion had been replaced with pale, sallow skin.
‘How’s it?—’
‘Fuck you,’ he said, and Penn had to move back slightly to avoid a few droplets of spittle that barrelled towards him like mini torpedoes.
Penn opened his mouth to speak but lost his chance.
‘What you guys gonna fuck up today, eh? You got the wrong man and built your case on my lying wife and a fucking low-level street crim.’
Penn met his gaze. There was no avoiding the red-hot rage in his eyes. And that didn’t bother him. He’d put away plenty of people who now fantasised about pulling him apart limb by limb like an insect. Pissing off criminals and bad people was his job. What he didn’t like seeing reflected there was accusation: the silent allegation of being told he’d got it wrong.
‘You fucked up, copper,’ Gregor said, bitterly.
‘Did we?’ Penn asked, without batting an eyelid. He would expect a man charged with murder to say exactly that. But, that’s what he was here to find out. He’d spoken to just about everyone else.
‘Yeah, like you’re gonna fucking listen to me now. You wouldn’t listen to me back then, so why you interested now? You got your guy for the crime. Well you got a guy for the crime, so your stats and targets are all good; so who fucking cares if I actually killed that kid, right?’
‘I do,’ Penn said, honestly, talking little but listening hard and watching even harder.
The man had given up. He’d shouted his innocence for months and had now accepted his fate whether he was guilty or innocent.
‘Give me something, Gregor,’ he said.
The man opened his hands. ‘What do you want? If I’d known this was gonna happen I’d have invited the whole street round to give me an alibi. It was a normal fucking night. Two knackered parents vegging out in front of the telly, barely speaking once the kids had gone to bed. I could hardly keep my eyes open. Normal night and there’s only two people who can confirm that. One is dead and the other is a lying fucking—’
‘She’s changed her story again, Gregor,’ Penn offered.
His busy mouth fell open. ‘She’s what?’
‘Gone back to story A. Says you were with her the whole night.’
Words appeared to fail him.
‘She’s offered no further explanation and she seems scared of something, but to be honest we can’t trust a word she says.’
His head fell forward as though he couldn’t even be bothered to summon any hope.
‘There’s something else,’ Penn said, knowing he was divulging too much but he had to see the man’s reactions.
Gregor lifted his head.
‘The eye witness testimony isn’t as reliable as we thought.’
‘How could it be?’ he asked, incredulously. ‘That fucking crim couldn’t have seen me cos I wasn’t bloody there.’
Penn chose not to divulge that Ricky Drake couldn’t actually have seen anyone. That was one fuck-up too far on their part.
‘But that brings me to the tee shirt, Gregor,’ Penn said, heavily. They came back to that every time.
‘Never seen it before,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘That doesn’t wash, man. The victim’s blood was found on an item of clothing in your shed.’
He took a deep, defeated breath. ‘Don’t matter how many different ways I try to say it. I swear to you that I didn’t put it there.’
Penn combed his fingers through his hair. ‘You gotta give me more than that. Look, I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, but work with me here. Anybody else giving you a chance to speak lately?’
Gregor regarded him for a full minute.
‘You really serious about this? You really looking at this with your eyes open this time?’
‘It’s why I’m here.’
‘I got nothing that’s gonna help you one way or another, but I’ll tell you the whole bloody truth and you make your own mind up.’
‘Go on.’
‘You find the tee shirt?’ he asked.
Penn nodded. ‘I did the outside search.’
‘Where was it?’
‘Back right, furthest corner from the door.’
‘What did you have to move to get in?’
Penn thought back. ‘Pair of stepladders, a couple of kids’ bikes, storage boxes.’
‘All at the front, right?’
Penn thought. ‘Yeah, up to about halfway and then it was clear to the back.’
‘I put everything at the front, mate. Either side of the door. I stack it up and push it around from the doorway.’
Yeah, Penn could imagine that from what he’d seen.
‘Like I said before, it’s nothing you can use but I can tell you that I didn’t put that tee shirt right at the back of the shed there, cos I never even step into the thing. Never.’
Penn shook his head, not understanding
‘Spiders, man. I’m not just scared of ’em. I’m absolutely terrified of the little fuckers.’
FIFTY-FIVE
‘So, what do you think Veronica meant by access to everything?’ Bryant asked as he pulled up at a zebra crossing.
Yes, Kim had been thinking about what the woman had said right before they’d walked out the door. What exactly was there to have access to? Didn’t they know it all now?
‘Stace and Tinkerbell are on it right now,’ she replied. ‘But I’m more interested in what Freddie Compton has to say.’
‘You ruling Veronica out then?’
‘Oh, Bryant, when do I ever rule out anyone? She’s just on the back burner for now. If an obvious link to our second victim comes in I’ll put her back on the boil.’
‘You try cooking something last night?’ he asked, giving her a sideways glance. ‘Only you tend to use food analogies when you’ve braved the kitchen again. Unsuccessful, I’m guessing.’
‘My cooker hates me.’
‘You’re blaming your kitchen appliances?’
‘Obviously,’ she said as though it was a no-brainer.
She’d tried all manner of recipes, books, internet, YouTube videos and even kiddy cooking corner and as yet there had been no success. There was only one common denominator: her cooker.
‘So, no, to repeat, I’m not ruling out Veronica Evans yet. But Stacey said that this guy, Freddie Compton, organised Brainboxes for twelve years before the Welmsleys took over, so will have seen both our victims at the events. He has to have some clue as to what they’ve got in common, but more importantly, Bryant, where the fuck are we?’ she asked looking around.
‘Wondered when your anxiety levels were gonna kick in,’ Bryant smirked.
Oh yeah, they were firing up. There had been a lot of green land between Kidderminster and where they were now.
‘We’re in a village called Cleobury Mortimer and we’re taking this left turn right here,’ he said, negotiating a tight bend that turned into a steep climb immediately.
‘This isn’t a bloody road,’ she moaned as the bramble on the passenger side hit her window.
The road continued to climb and then levelled before dropping slowly beyond a grey stone farmhouse.
‘Why would anyone want to live here?’ she asked.
Bryant pulled on to the drive beside a Land Rover and pointed. ‘For that.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
The house was elevated above a steep, sloping garden that ran into a valley below. The house looked out over miles of countryside.
‘That’s Clee Hills in the distance,’ Bryant offered as they got out of the car. ‘Used to take the missus up there when we were dating.’
‘You cheap bas—’
‘It’s romantic,’ he said, shaking his head.
Kim shrugged and started walking to the door on the side of the house.
‘Hear that?’ Bryant said, tapping her on the arm.
‘Hear what?’ she asked, impatiently, as he stopped walking.
‘The silence.’
Oh, he was right about that. They were in the middle of nowhere. They’d turned off a decent A-road, onto a narrow bumpy B-road, before hitting a single-track lane that had led to the hilly dirt road.
She couldn’t remember seeing another car for miles.
‘You really don’t get it, do you?’
No, she really didn’t. The property was rural, isolated and to her desolate. She drew comfort from the familiarity of town noise, even the late-night noise of occasional sirens, doors slamming, tellies blaring, loud music through open windows, drunks singing on the way home from the pub, wives giving them what for once they got there.
Her only interest in the countryside was tearing through it on the Ninja to blow the cobwebs from her mind.
‘Come on, country boy,’ she said, knocking on the heavy wooden door. The sudden sound cut through the heavy silence.
No answer.
She knocked again.
Nothing sounded on the other side of the door.
‘Bryant…’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said, already looking around.
Kim headed through a waist-high side gate that led on to an area of decking supported by stilts that disappeared into the sloping ground below.
A patio window looked out on to the decking but the curtains were drawn.
Kim tried the door. It was locked.
‘Damn,’ she said, continuing around the property, stepping off the decking back on to hard ground.
‘Kitchen window,’ Kim said, holding up her hands either side of her face and peering in. Bryant did the same.
The kitchen appeared in order but empty.
‘He has to be here. His car’s right…’
Bryant’s words trailed away as a fly hit the window.
They looked at each other.
‘Time of year, guv,’ Bryant said, hopefully, while taking another look.
Another two flies hit the window on the inside.
‘Okay, fair enough,’ he said, heading back on to the decking. He carried on towards the side door where they’d originally knocked.
She picked up a wrought-iron chair and raised it above her head.
‘Guv,’ Bryant shouted just in time. ‘Door’s open.’ Well, that had just saved a chunk of their budget for new glass if their man was alive and well and just sleeping heavily.
She joined him and immediately covered her nose.
‘Jesus,’ she said, breathing through her fingers. There was nothing sleeping heavily in here. It was a stench they both knew well.
It was the pungent, unholy smell that could only be compared to a room full of rotting meat with the added smell of faeces. It was an odour that could live in a house for years despite deep cleaning and was unmistakeable as anything other than a dead body.
They now knew there was no need to rush as they entered the property. She turned left into the kitchen where she’d seen the flies. Bryant turned right into a small reception room.
From inside she could now see the floor of the kitchen, which was clear.
She headed into the hallway. The property appeared to be a warren of small spaces.
The room to the left of the kitchen had the door closed. A quick look at the open doors revealed a downstairs toilet and a utility room. And no shout from Bryant told her what she needed to know.
‘In here, Bryant,’ she called out.
Bryant joined her in the hallway and nodded that he was ready for her to open the door.
She held down the handle and pushed it open. Both the buzzing and the stench directed them before they even entered the room.
Kim filled her lungs and stepped in.
‘Oh my god,’ Bryant said as their eyes met the sight before them.
Freddie Compton was sitting in an easy chair, wide eyes staring towards the curtained patio window, with a kitchen knife protruding from the middle of his chest.
His white shirt, once sodden, was now stiff with the blood that had poured from the wound over his stomach, rippling along the contours and folds of his shirt, onto his legs, and staining the chair beneath him.
Flies were entering and exiting his nostrils, his slightly open mouth, hovering and buzzing around his eyes, and maggots crawled over his shirt around the wound, which would have been their first choice destination once they’d located the dead body.
She tore her eyes away from the community that had made a home within what had once been a walking, talking human being.
‘Seen what’s on the table, guv.’
‘I have indeed,’ she replied, taking out her phone.
Sitting on the table was the board game of snakes and ladders.
Bryant walked around the chair.
‘Can’t see it but I’m guessing the X is on his neck, and I’d say he’s been dead for four to five days.’
‘Yes, Bryant,’ she agreed. ‘I’m willing to bet this was our guy’s first kill.’
FIFTY-SIX
‘Okay, Tiff, what you got?’ Stacey asked, sitting back in her chair.
Since learning the real surname of the sisters was Loftus, having later both changed to their mother’s maiden name, they had researched the internet and been working their way through the hundreds of hits.
‘Okay, so Veronica was four years old when Belinda came along in 1957. Born to parents Alfred and Martha Loftus. He was a professor of economics, and she raised the children. All appeared normal until Belinda was six and Veronica was ten and both kids disappeared from the school register. They hadn’t moved home, so it looks like they were home schooled. Not the done thing back then and, incidentally, Mr Loftus seemed to disappear from academia at around the same time.’
‘He gave up his job to school his children?’ Stacey asked.
‘Looks like it.’
‘So, how did the family survive?’
‘Ah well, it appears that Mr Loftus liked to show off his daughters, particularly Belinda who was not only a gifted mathematician but could also name every city, town and village in the UK by the time she was six years old. Mr Loftus opened his house each Friday night for people to come and play with his children.’
Stacey felt the sour taste at the back of her throat.
‘Play?’
‘Test, ask questions and they got to pay for the privilege.’
‘So, Belinda was a freak to be exhibited and extorted. And what was Veronica’s gift?’
‘Spelling and a bit of piano playing. But Belinda was the star attraction.’
Stacey couldn’t help wondering how much fun those nights had been for the girls.
‘Well done, Tiff, that’s—’
‘I’m not done yet,’ she said, looking back at her notes.
Over the last couple of hours Stacey had found herself hoping that Tiffany wasn’t going to be whisked away quite yet. Maybe at the end of the day but not right now.
‘The play nights eventually turned into radio, theatre and television appearances. The more they did the more they were in demand. Spent some time touring Europe and a trip to New York in the early Seventies. Can’t find much public exposure after that, but I’ve got the footage of the last TV show they did.’
‘Pull it up,’ Stacey said, wheeling her chair across the office.
She watched as the screen sprang into life.
The set was a typical chat show arrangement, with the host named Kenny Franks sitting to the left of a glass table and the family on the right. The two girls sat side by side with their parents on higher stools sitting behind.
Stacey was first struck by the appearance of the girls. She guessed that Belinda was around ten or eleven and Veronica fourteen or so. Both were dressed in the same floral printed dress with a bow on the left of their head. Short white ankle socks and flat ballet shoes completed the look. It was an outfit suited to Belinda’s age but incongruous on the older girl.
Both were sat with their legs crossed at the ankles and their hands folded neatly in their laps.
Stacey found something fairly disturbing about the whole picture.
‘Turn up the volume,’ Stacey said as the camera zoomed in on Kenny the host who wore a smile as wide as the lapels on his check-patterned jacket.
‘…and the secret to their success is study, study, study?’ Kenny asked, looking over the girls’ heads to the parents.
‘Absolutely,’ Mr Loftus answered without humour. ‘If one has a gift it must be honed and practised.’
‘But with some time for fun?’ he asked, smiling at the girls.
‘Of course,’ Mr Loftus answered but didn’t elaborate.
‘And you lovely young ladies are going to demonstrate the results of all that hard work for us, aren’t you?’
Both girls nodded as the audience clapped expectantly.
‘Is this really entertainment?’ Tiff whispered, as the host took a card from the hand of an otherwise invisible producer.
‘Okay, we have a few pre-prepared maths questions here. So, we’ll start with Belinda.’
Stacey noted that the girl’s expression didn’t change at all.
‘Okay, first question of three. What is three thousand, two hundred and fifty-four multiplied by seven thousand, six hundred and ninety-three?’
‘That’s twenty-five million, thirty-three thousand and twenty-two,’ she replied after blinking twice.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Tiff said, leaning forward.
Kenny laughed out loud and looked around. ‘I can’t believe it. She’s absolutely right.’
The audience cheered and clapped. Belinda smiled in response, her parents beamed with pride but Veronica remained emotionless and still. It was no surprise to her that her sister had answered the question correctly.
Kenny leaned forward towards the girl.
