THE GUILTY ONES a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists Read online

  Gary drew in a deep breath. ‘Somehow, I knew you were going to say that, but I really hoped you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Why? Because it means that the man who did kill her is still free?’ Mackie picked up the tenner and pocketed it.

  ‘That’s another thing. No, it’s more that Brendan, a young man with his whole life ahead of him, died for nothing, and his family have to live with the stigma of having spawned a murderer.’

  ‘You are a right old softie, aren’t you, PC Pritchard?’

  ‘I hate injustice, Mackie, that’s all. I can still cut it with the heavy mob when I need to.’

  Mackie looked unconvinced. ‘Why the interest, after all this time?’

  Gary raised his eyebrows. ‘Can’t say, Mackie. Ongoing investigation.’

  Mackie hesitated, then added, ‘This didn’t come from me, but there was one other rumour going round the block at the time, and that was that Brendan’s suicide was, er, how can I put it? Assisted?’

  Gary froze. There had been absolutely nothing in any of the records to suggest that Brendan’s death had been anything other than a desperate measure to end his suffering. ‘What d’you know, Mackie?’

  ‘No more than what I’ve told you. But if I were a betting man, I’d wager that Brendan Symons wasn’t alone in his cell when he died.’

  ‘Is that even possible, after lockdown?’

  Mackie gave a hearty laugh. ‘It didn’t happen after lockdown, and even if it had, anything is possible in prison if you know who to bribe.’

  Gary left, feeling that a heavy weight had just descended on his shoulders. They moved heaven and earth to get the bad guys put away, now he wondered exactly what kind of place they were sending them to.

  * * *

  Jackman and Marie were busy working out a rota for the Symons family interviews when Gary arrived back at the station.

  Marie frowned at him. ‘Oh dear! That is not a happy face.’

  ‘No.’ Gary flopped down into his chair. ‘I’ve just heard something very disturbing.’

  Jackman looked up from his computer screen. ‘That sounds ominous.’

  Gary exhaled. ‘Someone who was on the same block as Brendan Symons has told me that it was suspected that the lad’s suicide wasn’t exactly textbook. The word he used was “assisted.”’

  ‘Shit!’ Marie exclaimed. ‘But what about all the official reports? Even the family are sure he took his own life. Are you certain this source is reliable, Gary?’

  ‘I’d stake my next month’s pay on it being kosher, Sarge. This guy is a born-again ex con holding down a job and keeping his nose clean. He’s helped me before, and he’s solid.’

  Jackman let out a long whistle. ‘How many more “assisted” suicides are we going to find?’

  ‘But they can’t be connected, can they?’ Marie asked incredulously.

  ‘I don’t think that’s the case,’ Gary said. ‘I think this was a prison thing. The kid got caught between two rivals, and from what I gather, he was collateral damage. Someone wanted him badly, and someone else “helped” him find a way out. That or it was a case of, if I can’t have him, no one will.’’

  ‘It’s still another travesty of justice, isn’t it?’ Jackman’s face was grim. ‘If it’s true. And we’ll never prove it.’

  ‘A load of cons admitting something like that! I don’t think so!’ Marie snorted.

  ‘I know it’s just hearsay,’ Gary added, ‘but it gives us more of an insight into what the mood was like at that time.’

  ‘Did your guy tell you anything else?’ asked Jackman.

  ‘He said he thought the kid was innocent. And I trust his judgement.’ He looked hard at Jackman. ‘So maybe the Symons family were right all along. Did you get any vibes when you met them, sir?’

  ‘Angry family, Gary. Hard to read. Marie and I both have mixed feelings about them.’ Jackman described their visit. ‘Where are Rosie and Max, by the way?’

  Robbie looked up from the pile of paperwork that he was working on, ‘The super sent them on an errand, sir. The foreman of the jury at the Ashcroft trial is unaccounted for. He’s the only one who hasn’t been notified of possible danger. She’s asked them to try and locate him.’

  Marie threw a worried glance at Jackman. ‘Why does all the news today sound so menacing?’

  ‘The deeper we dig, the darker it gets,’ Jackman proclaimed.

  ‘Very profound, sir,’ Gary said. ‘Anyone fancy a doughnut?’

  * * *

  Max straightened his tie and pressed the bell. The address they had been given was a neat semi-detached in a quiet road that ran behind the busy high street. He pointed to the garden. ‘Holiday, maybe?’ he said to Rosie. ‘I mean, all the flower beds are weeded with the edges done, but the grass hasn’t been cut for a week or two.’

  He rang and they waited, but there was still no answer. Rosie went next door.

  The woman who opened the door was in her thirties and wearing startling pink gym kit. ‘Just caught me, I’m off to Zumba. She stared at Rosie’s warrant card. ‘Oh. Is something wrong?’

  ‘It’s Mr Whitman. Do you know if he’s on holiday? We need to contact him rather urgently.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’ The woman looked worried. ‘I said to my Pete, it’s not like Isaac to go off and not tell us. He does go away quite a bit. He has a caravan in one of those seaside parks on the East Yorkshire coast, but generally we feed his fish and put his bins out for him. This time he never mentioned a holiday, but we haven’t seen him for weeks.’

  ‘Do you know if he has any close relatives that we could contact?’

  ‘He has a sister who runs one of the little antique shops in the town. It’s called “Bygone Treasures,” I think. Her name is Victoria Whitman.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I can’t really tell you any more.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘Thank you for your help. We’ll go and see his sister. Enjoy your class.’

  The door closed, and Max asked, ‘What’s Zumba?’

  ‘Dance fitness. Bit too vigorous for me.’

  Max grinned lasciviously. ‘Oh I don’t know. I’ve always found you pretty vigorous.’

  ‘Shut up, Max, or I’ll be arrested for assaulting a police officer. Now, where is this antique shop?’

  ‘This is Horncastle, you know, it’s full of antique shops. Why don’t we go into the first one we see and ask?’

  They left the car and took a footpath through to the busy, narrow high street.

  ‘Okay, this will do.’ Rosie pointed to a bookshop that boasted antiquarian, second-hand, and collectible books. Inside, it looked like a fire hazard just waiting for a match. Volumes were stacked from floor to ceiling, in wobbly towers, on shelves and bursting from cupboard doors.

  ‘People buy this crap?’ muttered Max, wrinkling his nose. The dusty tomes gave off a musty smell.

  Rosie brushed cobwebs off a dog-eared Rupert the Bear Annual, and shook her head. ‘Pass.’

  It took a few moments to locate the proprietor, hidden behind a stack of National Geographic magazines. Rosie had to fight back the urge to tell him they were from the Health and Safety Executive.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but can you tell us where we can find a shop called “Bygone Treasures?”’

  Relief flooded the man’s face and he replied eagerly, ‘Oh yes, it’s about five hundred yards up the high street, opposite a little teashop called “Going to Pot.”’

  She heard a snort, thanked the man hastily and hustled Max out.

  Bygone Treasures was locked, with a big “closed” sign on the door.

  Frowning, Rosie stared at the shabby exterior. ‘I’m not getting a good feeling about this, what about you?’

  Max tried the door, but it was firmly locked and bolted. ‘Let’s go next door, see if they know anything.’

  The shop assistant in the small boutique gift shop shook her head. ‘Victoria did mention going on a buying trip. She goes to the big flea market in Lille to bring b
ack pieces for the shop, but she always pops in and tells us when she’s off. We have a key, just in case of emergencies. These are old buildings and things do go wrong.’

  Rosie thought of the bookshop and smiled. ‘We have concerns about her brother, Isaac. Do you know him by any chance?’

  Tracey nodded. ‘Nice man, very supportive of his sister. They are twins, you know. Not identical, but so much alike.’ She stared at them. ‘He’s not in any trouble, is he?’

  ‘Oh no, not at all. We just need to contact him rather urgently.’

  ‘You’ve tried his home? He lives just off the high street in Lime Walk.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Same story there — goes away a lot but this time he hasn’t told the neighbours.’

  Tracey took a deep breath, opened a drawer under the counter and produced a shiny key. ‘It’s for the back door. Vic always bolts the front one from the inside and leaves the back way. You get to it down the alleyway two doors up the street. Please do let me have it back, won’t you?’

  Rosie assured her they would, though she was doubtful. With every minute that passed, she was feeling more and more concerned. She knew that the killer liked to target his victims’ weak points, and what could be more of an Achilles heel than a twin sister?

  * * *

  While Rosie and Max hurried down the alley, Yvette and Susie were making tea. Susie’s hand shook slightly as she added milk to the mugs.

  ‘I’m still shell-shocked after that visit from the police.’

  Yvette nodded. ‘Me too. I can’t stop thinking about it. And it’s made me even more worried about Dale and Liam.’

  Susie straightened up. ‘Surely you can’t think they would do anything that terrible? Not our brothers!’

  ‘Sorry, Susie, but I told you they scare me. To be honest, I don’t know what to think anymore. Someone is taking things into their own hands, and if it’s not one of us, who else could it possibly be? Who would care so passionately?’

  Susie sank onto a kitchen chair and stared at the milk carton as if willing it to speak. ‘There were others, Yvie, you know that. There still are. We have loyal supporters who, like us, have never given up.’ She paused. ‘I thought some of them were more driven than we were. I can name three or four that I always thought were too involved, almost unhealthily so.’

  Yvette sighed. ‘I know who you mean. Let’s pray it’s one of them and not our family. But you have to agree that the boys aren’t making things any easier for us. They need to back off.’

  ‘We should have a family gathering and tell them.’

  ‘And do we give the names of our supporters to the police?’ Yvette asked.

  ‘Absolutely! We need to take the heat off the family. We must do all we can to help the police, even if it does go against the grain after all we’ve suffered.’

  ‘To protect the family, and to try to give Mum some answers before . . .’

  ‘Exactly, Yvie. Before it’s too late.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Considering the state of the rest of the building, Max was surprised to find a modern UPVC replacement door at the back. He glanced at the lock. ‘Diamond Standard, snap-proof lock. Victoria doesn’t want any thieves getting their sticky hands on her bygone treasures, that’s for sure.’

  He took the key from Rosie, unlocked the door and stepped inside. Again, he wrinkled his nose. He hated the smell of old places. Max liked smart. He liked new. He found the stench of mildew, must and decay disgusting, and this place smelled of them all. Yet, he loved old architecture, and appreciated ornate structures and beautiful design. Just not up close.

  They were standing in a small kitchen area. Its old butler sink and retro cabinets in cream and green were pure nineteen fifties. On a small pine table, covered in a plastic cloth, were unwashed plates, cups and cutlery.

  ‘Not good,’ he whispered. ‘Not good at all.’

  ‘Should we ring this in?’ Rosie was staring at a mouldy loaf and a packet of rancid butter, still open on the table.

  ‘Better see what we’ve got first, I guess.’ Max grasped the doorknob and opened it.

  The smell hit them immediately, and it wasn’t musty old antiques.

  Max was afraid. Not for himself and what he might find, but for the effect it would have on the already shaky Rosie. This case had upset her from the word go, and he was terrified that the coming revelation would send her into freefall. ‘You were right, flower. We need to ring this in. You go contact the guv’nor. I’ll check this out.’

  ‘On your bike! We do this together.’

  ‘Rosie! I—’

  ‘I know what you are trying to do, Max, and I love you for it. But when we’re on duty, I’m a policewoman first and your girlfriend second. We do this by the book. We investigate, observe, touch nothing and report in. Okay?’

  Max said nothing, but he wanted to tell her that it was the policewoman he was worried about. She had already told him she couldn’t cope with the type of punishment this killer dished out. With a sigh, he pushed the door open and they entered a dingy hallway that led into the shop itself. The smell intensified and he gagged. Not daring to look at Rosie, he went into the shop and quickly checked around. He could see nothing untoward, which just left upstairs.

  He hesitated at the foot of the stairs, and Rosie pushed past him. ‘For heaven’s sake, Max, let’s get this over with. We know it’s going to be shitty, let’s just do it.’

  Upstairs they found two doors, one half open and the other closed. They glanced at each other. Rosie pushed the closed one and it swung open.

  They stood in the doorway and stared.

  It was as if they were looking at a dimly lit tableau in some waxwork museum. Every item in what had apparently been a stockroom had been pushed against the walls and stacked haphazardly in piles.

  Apart from two chairs and a table.

  The chairs were Victorian with intricately carved high backs. They were set opposite each other, one each side of a narrow heavy oak table, and both were occupied.

  Rosie grasped his hand and he heard her take a deep shaky breath. ‘Oh dear Lord! What has he done this time?’ she murmured.

  Together they stepped closer, but kept a good distance from the scene, ostensibly to protect the integrity of the crime scene, but Max didn’t want either of them getting too close. After joining the force, Max had quickly discovered that he was unable to look death in the face. He could cope with the most terrible accidents, and even gruesome murders, but he couldn’t face the eyes of the dead.

  ‘What’s actually happened here? And why is it so hot?’ The quiver in Rosie’s voice told him she was struggling to stay calm.

  On the table were two big plastic beakers that Max presumed to have held water, and a mass of packets of tablets. Most were opened, their foil strips empty.

  A man and a woman, who he assumed to be Isaac and Victoria, were tied to the chairs with wide bands around their waists, and ropes around their legs. Their upper arms were strapped tight to their bodies but their lower arms and hands were free.

  ‘The heat is coming from those two portable electric heaters,’ Max swallowed hard, ‘and knowing what’s happened with our other victims, I’m thinking he somehow coerced them into taking lethal doses of drugs.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. The bastard!’ Rosie was close to tears.

  ‘We’ve seen enough. Time to call it in.’ Max turned away.

  She nodded. ‘We’ve seen too much.’

  Max pulled her back through the door. He looked at her face and made a vain attempt at gallows humour. ‘Any guesses at what old Rory Wilkinson will say when he sees this? How about, “I’ll not be attending any of their dinner parties!” or maybe—’

  ‘Shut up, Max! Just shut up.’ Rosie ran down the stairs and out of the back door. Max closed the door on the grisly scene and went after her. He found her sitting in the yard with her back to the fence and her head in her hands.

  Max sank down beside her and put his arms
around her. She was shaking with sobs. For once, Max managed to keep his mouth shut and just held her close.

  * * *

  ‘Just heard from Max.’ Jackman stood up and called across the CID room. ‘The killer has struck again, this time two victims at one location.’

  ‘The jury foreman?’ asked Marie.

  Jackman nodded. ‘And his sister. SOCOs are on their way there now, and the local bobbies have secured the area for us. Marie? I need a private word.’

  She followed him into his office, not liking the pallor of his face.

  He closed the door and without waiting to sit down said, ‘Max rang, and he’s worried sick about Rosie. She’s taken this one really badly.’

  ‘What? Our Rosie?’ This just didn’t ring true. Had the killer done something truly horrific this time? ‘Does Max know what the problem is?’

  ‘He said that she’s been edgy about this case ever since we started investigating. The killer’s callousness and ruthlessness has really got to her. Then, seeing these two bodies . . .’ Jackman began to pace the room.

  ‘Are you thinking about pulling her off the case, sir?’

  ‘It’s worse, Marie. Max said she’s talking about chucking it all in. Giving up her career.’

  Marie gasped. ‘Rosie’s a first-class detective! She can’t mean it.’

  ‘We all have one case that hits us harder than most, and maybe this is hers. We’ll get her through it, if that’s what she wants.’ Jackman shrugged. ‘But for now, we have a double killing to attend to. Are you ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be. Lead on, boss.’

  On their way to the car park, Jackman told her what Max had said. ‘Rosie sounds in a bad way, Marie. Max said she couldn’t stop crying, and that’s not like her. I’ve just checked and the FMO is coming in later, maybe he can talk to her.’

  ‘Good idea. He’s a nice man, I’m sure he’ll help her.’

  Before she could continue, Jackman’s phone rang and he stood still, frowning.

  ‘Yes, Ms Symons, of course I remember you.’

  Marie waited, wondering why one of the Symons family was ringing Jackman on his mobile.