The Death Collector (42 page)

Gina paused. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘Listen,’ Joe said, holding his finger to his lips.

There it was again. Some banging and muffled noises, like someone groaning.

‘What is it?’ Gina said, as she came back down the stairs.

Some more bangs and thuds.

‘It sounds like someone trapped,’ Joe said. He tapped on the floor. There was an echo. The noises got louder, faster, more urgent. ‘It’s coming from below.’

Gina started to scour the hallway. ‘Find a loose board. Maybe someone’s under the floorboards.’

‘No, it’s not that. It’s further away.’ Joe moved along the hallway, looking for a doorway. He moved some coats. ‘It’s here!’ There was a door, bolts along the top and bottom, and a lock in the middle. He slid back the bolts and pulled, but it was still locked. ‘I’m going to break it open.’

‘No, let the police do it. I’ll call them.’

‘The police have just been. Didn’t you see?’ Joe stepped back and aimed a kick at the door. It didn’t budge, so he kicked it harder, his foot jarring as it hit the wood around the lock. It was damaged this time. One more kick, and the lock mechanism came loose as the wood splintered around it. Joe yanked at the door until the lock moved out of its casing and it swung slowly open.

The way down the stairs was dark but the noises were louder. There was a flickering light ahead. A flame. The door slammed behind him, jolting him and creating a draught, blowing out the flame. The cellar was thrown into darkness and Joe stumbled on a step, losing his footing and letting go of his phone as he put out his hands to steady himself. It clattered noisily as it bounced down the stairs.

He felt his way slowly along. His hand brushed along dry paintwork and the occasional cobweb, which felt like light flutters on his skin as it was magnified by the darkness. His feet slapped the concrete floor as he got to the bottom. The noises were louder, like muffled screeches.

Joe moved slowly across the floor, his arms stretched outwards, fanning out, waiting to hit something. The air smelled of piss and sweat. Paper rustled under his feet, large sheets, like newspaper. The screeches were loud now, insistent, someone trying to say, ‘Here, here,’ desperation evident.

As he moved across, his foot hit something heavy and soft. He bent down to feel what he had struck and then recoiled as his hand touched something clammy, the unmistakable feel of cold flesh.

He swallowed, tried to control the fear that was rising in him, and felt again. It was a naked body. A woman, from the way her body curved. He pushed at her in case she was making the noises, in case she was injured, but she was heavy and immobile.

He got to his feet and moved around the woman on the floor. The noises didn’t stop. They were further into the cellar. He kicked a foot, which kicked back at him. Joe dropped to his knees and followed the body upwards with his hands, along damp trousers and top, past the metal around two slim wrists.

Joe’s hands found the gag. He wrestled with the knot, the cloth wet with saliva, until it sagged forward and he heard the person in front of him suck in deep breaths before sobbing loudly.

‘Who are you?’ Joe said.

‘It’s me, Carl,’ he said, in between sobs. ‘Gas. There’s gas in the house. Booby-trapped.’

The smell. Joe realised what it was. He turned to shout, ‘Gina! There’s gas in the house.’

There were quick footsteps above, and the sound of Gina cursing. Joe listened out as she ran to the back door and flung it open. There was the scrape of windows being lifted upwards.

Gina opened the cellar door. ‘He’d left the gas rings on. We need to get out.’

Joe closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. ‘It’s all right, Carl,’ he said softly. ‘It’s over.’

He took the noose from his neck and Carl slumped to the floor. Relief flooded him as he thought how Lorna wouldn’t have to go through her life not knowing about her son, but as the relief started to take him over, something else occurred to him: Mary Molloy. The man who had done this had left not long after Hunter had been. Where was he going? He wasn’t coming back, that was for certain. Was it to the one person who might shelter him, the one person who had trusted him?

The weak light from the hallway reflected off his phone. The tumble down the stairs had made the cover come off and the battery skim across the floor. He felt around for them and reassembled it, pausing to look at the woman on the floor as he did so. She was dead, Joe could tell that. He didn’t recognise her, though.

He helped Carl up the stairs and out into the street. Carl collapsed on the pavement, sobbing uncontrollably.

‘Who’s the woman in there?’ Joe said.

Carl gulped in some air. ‘She was called Emma,’ he said.

‘I’ve called the police,’ Gina said.

‘Gina, I’ve got to go,’ Joe said, and got to his feet. ‘Give me your car keys.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘You wait here for the police. I’ve got to go to Mary.’

Gina passed Joe her keys. His phone was working again, so he called Mary. When she answered, he said simply, ‘Get out of your house. Go somewhere safe. It will all be over soon, but I’m coming to get you.’

And with that, he put his phone away and ran for the car.

Joe knew that this was a long way from over.

Sam had printed off what he could about Melissa Clarke’s disappearance, so that he could read about the case away from prying eyes. He’d found another empty office. It felt like the rest of the station was crumbling around the Murder Squad. He spread the papers on the desk under the flickering glare of a faulty strip-light. He didn’t know what Hunter had done about what he had seen on his screen, but he didn’t want anyone looking over again.

Melissa Clarke. Like her husband had said, she went out one night and didn’t come home again. There was a statement from someone at her book group saying that there was no meeting that night. Melissa’s husband’s statement read like a man who was suspicious about his wife’s behaviour but didn’t want to say the words, that she was having an affair. Just like Rebecca Scarfield.

Her friends couldn’t explain it, although one did say that she thought she was unhappy at home. There was some focus on her husband, but with the rumours of an affair and unhappiness at home, she was listed as just another missing person. Her parents were dead and she had no brothers and sisters; there was no one to campaign for her. She was a woman involved with another man, and the only person who kept her in the area was the husband she didn’t want to be with any more. Or at least that was how it seemed.

But it was more than that; it seemed like there wasn’t enough being done, as if it was normal for young women to just disappear. There were so many other leads to chase. Benefit or tax checks, to see whether she was claiming or earning anywhere else. Driving licence checks. Had she been stopped anywhere by the police? Poster campaigns. No, it seemed as if the investigation was quietly shelved. David Jex was in charge of the investigation and then he went missing. No one else carried it on, and Jex became the next missing person. Until now.

Sam made some notes and knew where he was going next. There must be more victims. The book group was the starting point, Melissa’s friends, and then treat it like a murder inquiry, not just about someone who has run off with her lover.

What he couldn’t work out was why this hadn’t been done earlier. Melissa had no history of erratic behaviour and hadn’t taken her passport with her. An updated file information sheet said that her bank account hadn’t been used for more than a month, signed off by David Jex. This wasn’t a woman who didn’t want to be found. She was a woman who couldn’t be found.

He needed coffee. He knew the night was going to get longer, and if he could just find enough to persuade Evans to let him look further, or even back him up, then the lack of sleep was worthwhile.

He took his phone from his pocket. He was going to call Alice, just to see if he could make it right somehow, so that she understood why he was doing it, but then decided against it. If they argued, it would spoil his mood and distract him.

His phone started to ring in his hand. It was Joe. He pressed to answer.

‘What’s going on?’

Joe was out of breath. ‘Look for Declan Farrell,’ he said, almost shouting down the phone. ‘We’ve found Carl Jex. He’s alive, but we nearly didn’t get here in time,’ and Joe gave him an address.

‘Carl’s alive?’ Sam said, surprised. He’d been too distracted to look for the address. He could have done it earlier.

‘Are you looking into Melissa Clarke, like I said?’ Joe continued. ‘Well, we did, and it led us to this house. Carl Jex was trussed up in the cellar and there is a dead woman in there. Hunter and Weaver were here too.’

Sam’s mouth dropped open. ‘When?’

‘Just before Farrell went. We looked inside and found Carl. He’s your man, Sam. Declan Farrell. But I don’t think he’s coming back.’

Sam clicked off the phone and ran along the corridor, bursting into the Incident Room, making people look up. ‘It’s Declan Farrell, he’s the one,’ he said, out of his breath, holding up his phone. ‘My brother has found Carl Jex.’

Evans looked up, startled, and pointed at two detectives. ‘Go, now,’ and then to Sam. ‘You better be right on this.’

‘I’m right,’ he said, as the two detectives grabbed their coats and starting running for the doors. Sam followed. He was seeing this through.

He waited outside the house, suburban and safe, away from the glare of the nearest streetlight. No one paid him any attention. He was filled with the tremors of anticipation. He thought of her scent, how she would be after a day with the children, imagined it filling his nostrils, a mixture of food and coffee and sweat and her own personal aroma. This wasn’t how he did these things, but he was filled with an excitement of how different it was.

The lights went off and on in the house, tracking her movement. The bathroom and then the bedrooms. When the lights went off upstairs, it was time.

He reached for some gloves he had found in his house. Black leather driving gloves he had bought when he thought they added to his look. He waited until he saw movement downstairs, her outline against the window blinds.

His car door clunked softly as he closed it, the night air filled with the soft rustle of his clothes. He kept his footsteps light as he walked quickly to the door. Nothing suspicious or that would make anyone look out. He tapped lightly on the glass and waited.

She was a long time coming, but then her shadow grew bigger.

When the door opened, she seemed confused. ‘Hello?’

He stepped forward quickly, pulling a knife from his pocket, an old fishing knife his father used for gutting whatever he had caught. He jammed it against her stomach and covered her mouth with his hand. ‘One scream, one bad move, and I push it in and you die here.’

She whimpered, her eyes wide, her chin trembling.

He nodded slowly. ‘Well done, Alice. Now listen very carefully. You’re going to come with me. You’re going to get in my car, in the boot, and not make any noise.’

Alice shook her head but he pressed his palm harder against her mouth. She glanced upwards, towards the stairs, and closed her eyes. The sound of singing came from one of the bedrooms, sweet innocence drifting down.

‘No, you’ll do as I say. The other choice you have is that I kill you now, and then I go upstairs and do the same to your daughters.’

Tears flashed across her eyes. She took some deep breaths through her nose and shook her head violently.

He pressed harder, sweat speckled his forehead. ‘You’re not listening, Alice. You’ll do anything for your children, so do this for them. Come with me and they’ll stay safe.’ He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. ‘Yes?’

Alice stared at him, anger in her eyes now, but then she nodded.

‘Good. Now turn around.’

Alice turned slowly, so that she was facing the wall in the hallway. He took his hand away from her mouth and pulled out some thin rope he’d found in one of his drawers, meant for a washing line. He put the knife between his teeth and tied her wrists quickly. He grabbed her coat from the hooks on the wall and put it over her shoulders, to hide the bindings.

She turned her head and bared her teeth. ‘If you go anywhere near my children, I will kill you.’

He pushed his body against hers, so that she slammed into the wall. His erection pressed against her. She felt it and closed her eyes.

‘Don’t get carried away, Alice. We’re going now. Just remember, one bad move, one shout for help, and I run back inside and gut them in their beds. Do you understand?’

Alice took a deep breath and then nodded.

They walked along the driveway together, his right arm over her shoulder, his left hand pushing the knife against her ribs. He opened the boot quickly and pushed her in, folding her legs before closing it shut. She kicked against it once, but then she stayed quiet.

He closed his eyes. Now, Sam Parker, you’re going to feel the hurt too. But your pain will never end, because you’ll never know the truth.

Sam was first out of the car when they got to Declan Farrell’s house, jumping from the back seat as the other two detectives were still undoing their seat belts. An ambulance was heading away, blue lights flashing, presumably with Carl Jex inside. A small huddle of neighbours watched it disappear. Gina was standing with them.