The Winter Killings, page 20
‘An L. Wilton.’
‘Made up, no doubt.’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘So, as soon as we finish up with Robert, we will rule that one out.’
Just before stepping out of the car, her phone rang. She answered. It was Ross.
‘Brad?’
‘I’ve sent you an email, ma’am. It’s a list of all the shareholders in KYLO over the last forty years as you requested. It hasn’t fluctuated, but there was an interesting change around the time that KYLO took control of Helping Hands from the government. One of the major shareholders pulled out in the preceding week. Sold all his shares. Might mean nothing, but…’
‘Go on, then,’ Gardner said, readying her notebook. ‘Who was it?’
‘His name was Neville Fairweather.’
Gardner didn’t write it down.
Didn’t need to.
The name was already ingrained in her conscious mind from events earlier this year.
Not that she’d be able to write now if she wanted to.
Her hand, and body, were frozen.
46
1990
Elizabeth Sykes had been torn from her world by the roots.
James was not who she’d believed him to be. Everything she’d ever believed about her family was in doubt.
She desperately needed order.
She sought it out.
Her boyfriend, Felix, was attentive. He listened. He cared.
So, despite being only fourteen, she gave herself to him in the ways he wanted. He was eighteen and had needs, she guessed. She was happy to do this. It was something, at least. Something she felt she could understand and hold on to.
Then there were her trips to see Mary Evans.
Daily, she sneaked visits to the bereaved young mother. Held her hand. Kissed her on the forehead. Told her that she was starting to look better… healthier… told those white lies.
But were those trips for Mary, really? Or were they for herself?
Mary was compassionate and doted on others. For most of her life, others had exploited these traits in her, which partially explained why she was now where she was.
So, was this just another selfish act by Elizabeth? Using another?
But it became addictive. That attention shown by Mary.
Yes, she had her boyfriend, but lately, he’d been so preoccupied with sex that he’d become less and less interested in her, and what made her tick. Her ambitions… her interests…
Mary always listened. Mary was always fascinated.
Their friendship grew.
But Mary was deteriorating. Her skin was paling, and she was losing weight. Her speech became slurred.
Once Elizabeth had tried to broach it, but Mary had brushed it aside. ‘I’m well taken care of. Your brother, the nurse, they take good care of me.’
And it was at that point that the true extent of her brother’s evil had dawned on her.
He was giving her drugs again.
For days, she’d considered telling her parents, going to the police, but her brother, although irritable with others, remained jovial with her, and doubt crept into her mind.
Then, as if by some miracle, Mary Evans’ health improved!
They continued talking and Elizabeth watched the colour returning to her.
One day, she gave her the news. ‘Things have changed. Massive things. I’ve come into some money. A rich relative… anyway… forget all that. I’ve a chance. A second chance.’
Despite being a little strange, Elizabeth was over the moon for her.
So Elizabeth, although sad to be losing someone special from her life, said farewell to her.
She planned to get in touch when Mary settled.
But, of course, she never got round to that.
Falling pregnant completely preoccupied her.
47
Doctor Ruben Robinson watched as the nurses disconnected all of Elizabeth Sykes’ machines.
After someone’s passing, the nurses were usually so quick and efficient at cleaning up. They reserved all emotion and compassion for those who still lived, only to fully consider the loss later, in the dark hours, when they lay awake contemplating the day.
Robinson was no different. Life and death were part of the job. Too much of an emotional response was a one-way ticket to early retirement.
Today, however, the nurses moved more slowly, and elegantly. It felt different somehow. And, as he observed Nurse Rhodes removing the PEG tube, he succumbed to a rare moment of reflection.
Elizabeth Sykes had been an enigma. A tragic tale scarred with intrigue, in much the same way that her body had been so badly scarred by the flames.
To survive the fire had defied the odds. To live for three decades since, truly impressive. To never once emerge from a state of catatonia, a startling anomaly. And now, to die without warning? No infection, no presentable heart or breathing problem… well, in a way, it could be said that the story of Elizabeth received a fitting conclusion.
He sighed.
He knew now that the unthinkable may just happen and he’d miss her.
For so long, for so many days, she’d offered him mystery on his rounds, when his day was so often black and white.
He moved over and looked down at the scarred woman and sighed a second time. Nurse Rhodes looked up at him. ‘Our longest resident.’
Doctor Robinson nodded. ‘And we never got to talk to her.’
‘No… but she spoke… just before she passed.’
‘I thought she was alone?’
‘No,’ she said, pointing up at the camera in the room’s corner. ‘They record for twenty-four hours before restarting. I’d a quick look before you arrived.’
‘And?’ Robinson said, raising his eyebrow. Even in death, the mystery of Elizabeth Sykes continued.
‘Sorry.’
‘Why are you sor—’
‘No, doctor, sorry, that’s what she said. Over and over.’
He looked down at Elizabeth again. At her pale, scarred face, and the thick skin where her eye should have been. ‘I don’t think you’d anything to be sorry for, my dear.’
‘That’s not all. She said a name…’
‘Interesting… who was it?’
After the nurse had told him, he creased his brow, perplexed. ‘Odd.’ He then raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. I’m going to miss you, Elizabeth… you really did interest me.
He placed a hand on the nurse’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, dear. I’ll contact the detective.’
48
Under a sky smeared with shades of grey, Barnett and O’Brien marched into the white expanse at gunpoint. The snowfall muffled the world into a hushed silence.
They’d exited through the rear door of the farmhouse on the opposite side of the property to where the burned-out vehicle and James’ remains were discovered.
Secret barns peppered their path. Dark wood twisted into different shapes, a stark contrast to the relentless purity of the snow.
Barnett kept looking to his right at O’Brien. Each time, she met his eyes, then returned her gaze forward, stoically. They didn’t dare whisper to each other. The quiet would betray them. Jen had readied herself to do what she must.
The terror was so overwhelming and his heartbeat so fast that only after the fifth barn did Barnett realise he was freezing. He lifted his hood up, but it did little to help. Winter fingers clawed at his cheeks.
Twice, he chanced a look back at Jen. Trudging through the snow, Jen looked more focused and committed than she’d done before in the lounge, and she marched relentlessly.
By the time they passed the sixth wooden structure, Barnett became convinced that they’d left it too late to fight back and that they both were going to die. Didn’t that make the rest of this march futile?
He stopped, turned and stared. His fast breaths conducted a ghostly dance in the air. When he realised he was still alive, he exclaimed, ‘You need to tell me where we’re going.’
Her eyes widened, and she raised the shotgun higher so she could take aim.
His mind raced uncontrollably. His thoughts were fragmented… chaotic… yet all around him, the surroundings glowed white and peaceful. He was about to die. Become part of this quiet silence.
He thought of his mother’s suffering and his father’s pain.
And he realised that he’d maybe been selfish. The trauma Amina had lived through and passed on to his father, and all Richard Barnett had ever wanted to do was protect Ray from those same experiences. That same pain. Guilt joined his fear, and he wished he could just have five more minutes with his father, but this had to end now.
‘I won’t take another step unless you tell us where we’re going,’ Barnett said.
She adjusted the gun to the left, so O’Brien was in its crosshairs instead. His heart sank. This was his fault. He’d broken the rules and dragged her here. She didn’t deserve this. This was on him, and he needed to keep her alive.
‘The next barn,’ she demanded.
‘So you can kill us?’ O’Brien asked.
‘It’s okay, Lucy,’ Barnett said.
She looked at him. Her eyes were wide.
He tried again to reassure her. ‘We’ll be okay.’
A complete lie, and she knew it.
‘The next barn,’ Jen said again. ‘Now.’
Barnett and O’Brien turned, and they continued onwards towards the hulking structure ahead. Barnett took several deep breaths, trying to replace his fear with bursts of adrenaline. They made his senses more acute. He heard his boots crunching into the snow. He glanced down at their feet, looking at the footprints.
Maybe the shotgun blasts at the farmhouse had been heard elsewhere?
If someone does come, they could follow our trail?
He focused so desperately on these long shots that they felt more and more realistic. But, deep down, he knew there was only one option.
He had to save O’Brien, even if it cost him his life.
He owed her that much.
Just before he reached the barn door, he turned, leaning close to O’Brien as he did so, whispering, ‘Run when I tell you.’
‘What did you say?’ Jen asked.
Barnett shook his head. ‘I told her she’ll be fine.’
Jen marched forward, using the shotgun to gesture for Barnett to put his hands in the air. Once he’d complied, she rustled in her pocket, knelt to the ground, still moving the shotgun between them both, and laid a key on the surface of the snow.
Then she stood and backed away.
‘Open the door, and head to the back of the barn.’
Barnett and O’Brien looked at one another.
‘Now.’
‘Why?’ Barnett asked.
She lifted the gun and pointed it at O’Brien again. ‘Now, or I swear to God…’
‘Okay… okay…’ Barnett said. He swooped for the key, looked at O’Brien again, gave her a knowing nod, and then turned.
At first, he found it incredibly hard to open the door. The key might have been a small piece of metal, but right now, it felt like the anchor to a ship. Weighting him down with both the unknown, and the near certainty of his impending death.
49
On Robert Thwaites’ doorstep, Gardner thought of DCI Michael Yorke. Her colleague, her mentor, her friend, from Wiltshire. Yorke was a true leader, and she recalled his advice to her when she was first promoted. ‘When it comes to your team, you can forget about your emotions. Any fluctuation, and you’ll lose control. You’re a straight line from now on, Emma. A straight line.’
A straight line!
Right now, her bloody line was as crooked as hell and she’d spear anyone who rubbed her up the wrong way.
She shook her head. Neville Fairweather was a former shareholder in KYLO. What a thing to just find out.
Fairweather was the biological father of her close friend, the late Collette Willows, who’d died in the line of duty. Well, it went on record as in the line of duty but Gardner believed it’d been preventable.
Believed? It bloody had been. Leaving her in a vulnerable situation.
Fairweather was a rich, powerful man who’d stalked Gardner from the shadows. Stalked. Yes… what other word was there for it? However, he’d since confronted her, although what he wanted was still entirely unclear. He claimed not to hold Gardner responsible for his daughter’s death and the reasons for his interest had something to do with Emma’s own brother Jack who was currently in prison. Eventually, Fairweather claimed, he’d need Gardner’s help.
Fairweather was adamant that he was operating in the best interests of everyone. Who was everyone? Gardner certainly didn’t feel like she was part of that exclusive group.
And now here he was. The wily old bastard. Mixed up again with Operation Gearchange.
Fairweather a former shareholder in KYLO.
Bloody hell!
Gardner had Fairweather’s number. She’d been told only to use it if, and when, Jack got in touch with her. Jack was in jail and had made no contact with her yet. Long may that continue. Her brother was sociopathic and dangerous.
Believe me, Neville, as soon as I’ve finished with Robert Thwaites, I’ll contact you. You can bloody well count on that!
Having given up on the doorbell, she knocked hard on Robert’s door for a third time.
‘Steady on, boss,’ Rice said. ‘You’ll take it off the hinges!’
You’re a straight line, Emma. A straight line…
Robert answered the door with a bewildered expression on his face. ‘Sorry, didn’t hear. The bell is on the blink.’
Gardner felt her irritation surge. Enough was enough. No more beating around the bush. It was time for his truth. ‘We need to speak again, Robert. Now.’
‘Cassandra is at Pilates… maybe you’d like to do it later—’
‘You, Robert. Just you.’
He looked startled by her tone and raised his hands in submission before turning away and leading them in. As Gardner followed him, Rice at her side, she inwardly ordered herself back into Yorke’s suggested straight line. If her impatience flared, then she could be certain that Rice’s would too.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Robert said at the lounge door.
‘No, thanks. We’d like to get straight to it.’ They assembled on the sofas. Gardner glared at him and then looked up at the picture of Ruby May on the mantelpiece, standing in front of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
She stood up again and marched over to it. She regarded it for a moment. ‘Such a lovely looking young woman, Robert.’ She didn’t look back at him, her gaze remaining on the photograph.
‘Yes, I—’
‘You must be proud.’
‘I am,’ Robert replied, a hint of confusion in his voice. ‘What’s this concerning?’
‘Just trying to work out who she looks most like,’ Gardner said, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.
Robert didn’t respond, the silence stretching between them.
Gardner reached out and picked the photograph up, her fingers curling around the frame. She turned, the photograph held tightly in her grasp.
‘What’re you doing?’ Robert asked, alarm creeping into his voice as he rose to his feet.
‘Please sit back down,’ Gardner said, her voice calm but firm.
Robert hesitated for a moment before slowly lowering himself back onto the sofa, his eyes never leaving Gardner.
Gardner could see the look of admiration in Rice’s eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He enjoyed it when she raised the temperature, when she took control of the situation.
She handed the photograph to Rice, her eyes still locked on Robert. ‘What do you think, Detective Inspector?’
‘I’m not too sure… she’s her own look about her, definitely—’
‘I must object,’ Robert said, rising to his feet, his voice strained with barely contained anger.
Gardner’s head snapped towards him, her glare fierce and unwavering. ‘It was a home birth, wasn’t it?’
The intensity of her glare was enough to make Robert falter, and he slowly sank back into the sofa, his face pale and drawn. ‘Yes… what’s this—’
‘Come on,’ Gardner said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. ‘You must have known we’d get here eventually?’
‘Sorry, I—’ Robert stammered, his voice growing weaker with each word. ‘We checked Ruby May’s birth certificate.’
‘Why?’ His voice was barely above a whisper.
‘A couple of things. We noticed your daughter was the same age as John Atkinson’s, give or take a few months.’
‘Coincidence,’ Robert said with a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his unease.
‘Coincidence?’ Rice said. ‘Both of you getting a piece of James Sykes and a note. That a coincidence, too?’
Robert’s face twisted into a scowl. ‘The tone from both of you is all off here,’ he said, his voice growing defensive.
‘You also both had the same midwife,’ Gardner said, her voice low and steady. ‘Three out of three on coincidences.’
Robert opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but the words seemed to die on his tongue. Instead, he took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
‘Why don’t you tell a true story, Robert?’ Gardner asked, quoting the cryptic note word for word.
‘I need a solicitor.’
‘You’re a solicitor,’ Rice said.
‘Which is why I know how important it is to get one who specialises in this area, you smug—’ He broke off in time.
‘You need to stay in control,’ Rice said. ‘If you want the arrest to go smoothly.’
Robert’s eyes widened.
Gardner said, ‘My colleague is right. You’re about to be arrested. You can take this opportunity to plead your case first, but I’m not waiting around for a solicitor. I’m happy to just take you to the station.’
