The Death Collector (40 page)

‘So what changed?’

‘Declan.’

‘Explain.’

Rachel shook her head as if angry at some forgotten memory. ‘Declan is a handsome guy. Interesting, funny, engaging. It seemed like he knew me. I told him I liked flowers, doing arrangements and stuff, and he used to talk to me about them, as if he liked them too. He would come up to me before the meetings and tell me about some he had just bought, and it was flattering, as if he cared about the things I cared about. Then he got hold of my mobile number, and it changed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Before then, it had been a flirt at the book group, nothing more. I’d go home with the buzz of feeling that someone fancied me, but I didn’t think anything beyond that, but then the texts started coming in. And they really started coming in. It was like scatter-bombing, constant, but it was personal stuff, saying that he was concerned about me, that I seemed unhappy. And I wasn’t, or at least I thought I wasn’t, but the things he was saying made me question everything. He didn’t insult my husband, but talked about how nothing was exciting any more and how I had talked myself into a rut. I started to look at my husband and think maybe Declan was right. Did I still love him? Was it just a habit? Did I need some excitement?’ She sighed. ‘I asked him to stop texting me, because I knew he was sucking me in, but he just told me he wouldn’t accept that answer. He would text me late at night and early in the morning, and Gary would ask who I was texting but what could I say? So Declan became my secret, and in between all the stuff that questioned everything was the fun stuff. The flattery, the jokes, the feeling that he was confiding in me about his own life and that I could confide in him.’

‘It sounds like the start of an affair,’ Gina said.

‘It nearly was,’ Rachel said, regret filling her voice. ‘He invited me out. He said he would treat me, take me somewhere nice that my husband could never afford, but I was getting cold feet. I would have to get dressed up and I couldn’t face lying to my husband.’

‘So what happened?’

‘He kept on and on, but I started getting suspicious about him, because it almost seemed too perfect. I’m just someone who works for the tax office to keep the bills paid and was doing a flower-arranging course at college. I’ve got this handsome guy who is interesting, and finds me interesting, and it was too good to be true. So I started to take notice of the things he was saying and it started to seem unreal. He said he was a writer, but it turned out he had never written anything. Or at least never had it published. And he would send me messages and make me feel like the most important person in his life, but then it would just stop. He would be quiet for weeks and I’d wonder if I’d done something wrong, just go crazy thinking about him and why he had stopped, and then the texts would start up again.’

‘Why does that make him dangerous though?’ Gina said. ‘It just makes him sound like a player, nothing more.’

Rachel looked down and her chin started to quiver. ‘I told him to leave me alone, and he got nasty, and I don’t just mean angry. I’d followed him one night because I wanted to know who he was with, and I saw him with some woman, showing her into his house. I wasn’t supposed to know where he lived, and when I followed him it wasn’t where he said it was. I confronted him the next time I saw him, and there was something in his eyes I’ve never seen in a man before. A darkness, menace, like it transformed him, except his words didn’t match. He was asking me to go to his house just once, to see how good it could be.’

‘And did you?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘He scared me. I refused, and when I wouldn’t give in, he threatened to tell Gary all about us, how we had been exchanging late-night messages, the things I had said, the secrets I’d shared, about things I had done that Gary doesn’t know about, can’t know about, because it would hurt him. Just meaningless stuff, things that had happened on nights out but I’d felt bad about and ended up sharing with him.’

‘How did it all end?’

‘I changed my number. I stopped going to the reading group and that was it. Then I heard about Melissa going missing and I knew she had been getting close to Declan, so I wondered, well, whether he’d had anything to do with it.’

‘Did you tell the police?’

She shook her head. ‘Then all my stuff would come out. It’s selfish, I know.’

‘So why are you telling us now?’

‘You’re the first person to ask. The rest had just been my secret.’ She looked at Gina. ‘Do you think he might have harmed someone? Like Melissa.’

‘I don’t know,’ Gina said. ‘But something isn’t adding up.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he had.’

‘What makes you so certain?’

‘Just something in his eyes. I can’t be more precise than that.’

Joe leaned forward. ‘You said you followed him to his house.’

‘Yes. He hadn’t known I was there.’

‘Where is it?’

‘One of the streets off Greencroft Avenue, you know, the turning after the bowling alley. I can’t remember which one.’

At the mention of the bowling alley, the memories of the police station visit with Carl rushed back at Joe. He hadn’t written down the street name where Carl had been arrested, but on the drive home Carl had pointed it out. He’d forgotten about that. They had been driving past the bowling alley.
Down there
, Carl had said, and gestured towards a street somewhere in the distance. Joe hadn’t taken any notice at the time, it was late and it hadn’t seemed important, but he remembered it now.

He turned to Gina, his nerves fluttering. ‘That’s the place.’

‘What is?’

‘Carl was arrested somewhere near there.’ Joe looked at Rachel again. ‘What kind of car does Declan drive?’

‘A Focus. Dark red.’

Joe’s eyes widened. Like Nicole had said, the one she saw on the moors. He grabbed Gina’s hand. ‘We’ve got to go.’

Carl had hardly moved since the man left the cellar.

The man had ranted and kicked furniture, even thrown some around. Then there had been the slam of the door and the house had fallen silent.

Time had passed and all Carl could feel was emptiness. His head still throbbed from where he had been pushed against the wall, but that wasn’t the reason. It all felt so hopeless. His one chance and Emma had died.

He’d let her down. He should have charged him, just to give Emma enough time to get to the door and make a run for it. She could have raised the alarm, and he could be waiting for the wail of sirens, instead of wondering what lay in store for him now. No, they had been too intent on striking out at him. Too angry, not thinking clearly enough. And now Emma was dead.

Carl couldn’t look at her body, just a shadow in the murky darkness. Even if he was able to get out, seeing someone being killed was something he knew he’d never forget.

There was the sound of the car and then the slam of the front door. The man was back. Carl didn’t move. Minutes passed, although Carl hadn’t got any better at counting them, before the cellar door was flung open. There was a pause and then shadows flickered against the wall, lighting up the cellar with movement.

Carl struggled to a sitting position. The man was holding a large candle mounted on a white holder, the flame blowing slightly in the draught made by his movement. He walked slowly, carefully, his shadow cast as a moving giant, before he stopped to set the candle down on the floor. It lit up Emma, gave her skin some life. Carl turned away.

The man straightened and walked over to Carl. He was holding a newspaper in his other hand. His jaw was set in anger. There was a bandage around his neck.

He put the newspaper on the floor and then reached down for Carl, pulling him upwards by his hair. Carl cried out in pain as he was walked across to the noose. He struggled as the man placed it over his head again, but it was no use. Once it was back in place, the man yanked hard on the rope so that it went tight around him once more. Enough space still to breathe, but its tightness was an ever-present reminder.

Carl’s legs ached straight away, even though he’d had some time resting.

The man bent down for the newspaper and thrust the front page in front of Carl. The
Evening Press
.

‘Did you think I didn’t know who you were?’ the man said, snarling, spitting the words at him. ‘Read it.’

Carl tried to focus, but the light was dim and the paper too close. ‘I can’t see,’ but then the man moved the paper away and Carl saw his father’s face.

Sweat jumped onto his forehead and his stomach rolled, the taste of acid sharp in his throat. He caught the headline.
MISSING
DETECTIVE
FOUND
BURIED
ON
THE
MOORS
. Carl didn’t need to read the rest. He had found his answer.

The hot prickle of tears flashed across his eyes. His gut clenched and he let out a long moan. The cellar receded as he felt the hard slap of shock and memories of his father rushed back at him. His laughter, loud and happy; the strong man who held the family together. Splashing in the pool on holiday, falling asleep against his chest when watching films, the feel of his hand in his hair as he ruffled it. The images came in a flurry, so that he couldn’t sift or sort them, and all he had now was the headline blurred through his tears.

He looked up at the man, and then back at the page, to the truth he had always known, but the hurt was still deep, the anguish of knowing that the last faint hope of his father being alive was gone.

‘You bastard,’ Carl said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘What did you do?’

‘Me? Nothing, would you believe?’ He smiled, although it was more like a cold sneer. ‘But you’ll never find out.’ The man reached for the gag that had been thrown onto the floor. He fastened it tight, making Carl grunt with discomfort. ‘I have to leave. I’ve got a few things to straighten out first. Remember, you started this, the end.’ He paused to look down at Emma. ‘I’m saving you this way, because you won’t be able to live with it if I let you go. Choose your own way out, Carl. I’m leaving the gas on when I go. Whoever is first in will make the house go up with a bang, or maybe when the gas reaches that flame. That will be painful. Maybe go your own way first. Remember, all you need to do is sink to your knees.’

Then he was gone, moving quickly up the stairs, the door clicking shut.

Carl put his head back and let the tears flow. His father was dead. He’d always suspected it, but now his hope had truly been snuffed out. What about his mother? How would she cope?

He looked to the floor and felt the rope dig into his neck. His legs were weak, his energy sapped by the headline. He couldn’t go on.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d let his mother down, by ending up like this. The man had gone. Carl knew he couldn’t hold on.

Once more, his head filled with memories of his father. His smile, strong and funny, and the feel of his arms around his shoulders. His protector. His hero. Gone.

He couldn’t last much longer. His legs ached, almost urged him to sit down. The man was right. It was the easiest way.

He wanted to say sorry to his mother. The flame was hypnotic, casting shadows over Emma. He thought of how it would be when the gas came down the stairs, curling around the bare space, sinking, finding the heat. Everything would end in a flash. He couldn’t bear that.

It was time to go. He had no fight left.

Gina was driving around the streets beyond the bowling alley. Sam still hadn’t got back to Joe with the address, so they were looking for a dark red Ford Focus.

‘So you think this is the man?’ Gina said.

‘Carl was here,’ he said. ‘Now he’s missing. Whoever this person is, he is connected to a missing woman.’

Gina nodded at that, satisfied. ‘I know this Declan.’ When Joe looked surprised, she added, ‘No, not the real Declan. I mean, I know people like him. How he thinks. I’ve come across people like him before.’ Then she smiled ruefully. ‘No, a person, not people.’

‘Tell me,’ Joe said.

‘It was more than ten years ago now,’ she said. ‘I was living with a man but we’d become distant, although I still loved him. So along came Lloyd, another detective. Full of charm and wit, and he seemed to understand me, as if he knew what I was thinking, why I felt lonely. We had similar interests, or so I thought, but I felt bad about cheating. Lloyd wouldn’t let it go though. He got hold of my number and texted constantly. It was just relentless, and eventually I gave in. So we went out. He made me feel special, fed me bullshit, like we were star-crossed or something, and I just fell for him. I left my partner but as soon as I did, Lloyd dumped me. He’d got what he wanted, total devotion, capitulation almost. What further use was I to him?’

‘Sometimes it’s just the thrill of the chase.’

‘No, it was more than that. And it’s not just men; there are women like that too. He wanted to control me, as if it was just to prove that he could. But how can you walk away from someone you are so deeply in love with like that? So I made a fool of myself. I turned up at his house, sobbed and begged to be taken back, and he just abused it. He used me, like some plaything, knowing that I would do anything. He would leave it weeks without any contact, and I’d be calling and texting but nothing came back, until he decided he needed me, and I was desperate enough to jump at it. I realised what was going on eventually, that I was being stupid, but it took me a long time to get to that. And when I did, I walked away.’