Nameless Kill (23 page)

And the worst part was, nobody ever learned. The cycle went on, and on, and on.

“How old are your kids, Mrs. Delforth?” Brian asked.

A smile appeared on Mrs. Delforth’s wrinkled face. Her hands grew less shaky, more controlled. “My Claire, my lovely Claire. She’s‌—‌she’s…‌will she be thirty-nine or forty? Thirty-nine or forty. One of those ages.”

Brian nodded. Held his smile. The fantastical taste of bacon lurked on his tongue. The longer he spent standing in this roasting hot living room, the more he wanted to get back outside. Mrs. Delforth was fine. Shaken up, but fine. She’d be okay.

“My Luke’s an angel though,” she said, smiling even wider. “Helps me around the house. Even painted my garden gate this morning. Did you like it?”

Brian thought he’d noticed a change in the green metal gate outside. All fair and well “Luke” coming round and painting her gate. Pity he didn’t make a better effort at cleaning up his mum’s house.

“Sounds nice to get some help,” Brian said, holding back his true thoughts. “Now how about that tea?”

Mrs. Delforth slowed down her knitting, smiling wider than Brian had seen her all afternoon so far. Then, a few seconds later, she nodded and tilted her head towards the door, staring into space. “Just out the door to the left. Teabags and sugar are on the side. I’ll…‌three sugars, please.”

She opened her mouth and grinned at Brian with a sole, blackening tooth. Three bloody sugars. No wonder she had tooth-rot.

Brian left Mrs. Delforth to her knitting and walked across the hard carpet. He went out of the lounge door towards the similarly gloomy hallway. The hallway was stacked with items of various shapes and sizes too. Old picture frames, once-golden medals now covered in a thick brown rust. Old girl was a hoarder, pure and simple. He’d seen a show about hoarders once. Crux of the matter was, there wasn’t much you could do about them. Once the addiction started, it was almost impossible to stop, especially in the old and borderline senile.

He walked past the white door of an under-stair cabinet and pushed open the creaky kitchen door.

When he stepped inside, he wasn’t too sure he fancied a cup of tea after all.

Flies buzzed around the kitchen, landing and rubbing their little hands on the stained edges of white tea-cups. The metal sink was stacked with pots, food discolouring the plates that were inside. There was a nasty smell in the kitchen too. A smell like off-milk.

Yeah. Brian definitely was going to stay away from the tea. No wonder Mrs. Delforth didn’t have any bloody milk in hers.

Brian stepped over to the blue kettle and flicked it on. He went to lean on the imitation marble kitchen worktop, but decided against it. He’d touched one too many grubby surfaces in his life. Instead, he fished out for a clean cup from the pile stacked in the draining rack beside the sink.

Well, the least dirty cup, anyway.

When he found one, the water in the kettle bubbling away, he realised he wasn’t sure where the sugar was. He looked to the right, over towards the stacks of out of date ready meal containers. He looked over to the left, where another pile of random items sat.

Ah. Sugar. There it was, in a tall white container.

It was when he went to lift the container that he noticed something unusual.

An open can of thick black paint. It was the smell that got him first. That strong smell of decorating work. He thought back to his childhood when he’d sat on the wall at the front of his family’s new terraced house, the smell of those paint fumes mixing with the heat of the concrete tiles on that sunny day. The smell of the paint stuck with him for days‌—‌weeks, even. The sun shining through the kitchen window at this can of black paint took Brian right back.

But before he could consider why he was so curious about this paint, he noticed something else.

Beside the can of black paint, there was a carrier bag. There was a green logo on the side of it.

The Pet Supremo logo.

As the water in the kettle rumbled, Brian reached over for the bag, his heart picking up. Pet Supremo. The collar that was said to have been around Elise Brayfeather’s neck, that was a Pet Supremo collar.

No. It couldn’t be. Mrs. Delforth’s house was filled with all kinds of junk. He was being stupid. He was being…

His thoughts froze as he opened up the carrier bag and saw what was inside.

It was a large chunk of plastic packaging. Packaging that had been cut into.

And above the plastic packaging, the words “Leather Dog Collar.”

“You okay in there, love?” Mrs. Delforth called, her voice echoing through the house.

Brian stood there, completely rigid, the carrier bag in his hand. This didn’t make sense. He was clutching at straws. This collar, it had to be unrelated. Anybody could buy a collar.

But then again, Mrs. Delforth didn’t have a dog, did she?

Ignoring the boiling kettle for now, Brian walked back into the lounge, every footstep heavy as it came down on the solid ground.

Mrs. Delforth was still at the far end of that ugly green sofa, her eyes staring over at her murky window.

“Mrs. Delforth,” Brian said, holding the carrier bag and the packaging in his hand, his heart pounding, his throat dry. “Is…‌Do you have a dog?”

Mrs. Delforth chuckled. Her hands lowered as she turned over whatever it was she was knitting. “Oh, the collar? Oh, that’s my Luke’s. Got it for his pet. But my Luke and his pets. Silly old idea. Never does have the time to look after ‘um.”

Brian stepped further into the room, the muscles in his arms getting tighter, his skin growing clammy. “Your son. Luke. Where can I…”

Brian didn’t finish his question because it was at that moment that it clicked exactly what it was Mrs. Delforth was knitting.

“Are you okay, officer?” she asked, looking at Brian with concern. “You’ve gone awfully pale.”

Brian stared. Stared at what was between Mrs. Delforth’s sharp knitting needles, because it’s all he could do.

A pink hat. A pink, fluffy hat, just like the one Elise Brayfeather had been found wearing.

Just like the ones Winston Moya had insisted nobody ever bought from his shop.

Mrs. Delforth was knitting a pink hat.

“What…‌That hat,” Brian said, raising his shaky hand, a sickly taste growing in his mouth. “It…‌Why are you knitting that hat, Mrs‌—‌Mrs. Delforth?”

She looked down at the hat, as if she didn’t quite realise what Brian was getting at at first.

Then, she looked back at him, waving the hat. “Oh, this thing? This is for my Luke,” she said. “He gives them to his girlfriends.”

Chapter Thirty Nine

Brian stood completely still in the centre of Mrs. Delforth’s lounge. The silence was more intense than any sound he’d heard in his life. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, stinging more and more gradually with every beat. The heat of the muggy, warm room surrounded Brian, engulfed him, making it difficult to breathe.

Mrs. Delforth was knitting a pink hat. She was knitting it for her son, Luke, to give to his girlfriends.

Luke Delforth was Stag.

“Made these things for him for years,” Mrs. Delforth said, smiling. She sent one sharp needle through the pink material then back through the other side, so controlled despite the shakiness of her hands. “My Luke loves his mother’s knitting.”

Brian wanted to speak but his throat had clogged up. The smell of damp‌—‌the damp of the old cardboard boxes stacked around the room‌—‌got even more intense.

And that’s when he saw it. That’s when he really paid attention to what was around him.

Over by the side of Mrs. Delforth’s grubby green sofa, amongst the cardboard boxes, he saw a pile of fluffy, creamy white material.

The sheep’s wool. The imitation sheep’s wool rug.

Something else Mrs. Delforth must have knitted.

“Always has been a shy lad, though, my Luke. Keeps himself to himself, like. But he did such a good job of my gate. Good lad. Good lad.”

Brian brought his eyes back to Mrs. Delforth, his mouth dry, his bitten down nails tensed in his clammy palms. He had to ring Marlow. Or Brad.

He had to ring somebody and get a search team out for Luke Delforth.

“Where…” Brian said, his voice weak and forced. “Luke, he…‌Where does he live?”

Mrs. Delforth stopped knitting and frowned at Brian through her baggy old eyelids. “You sure you’re okay? Gone all red now. Get some tea down you.”

Brian gulped down the lump in his throat, forced in a calming breath, and held it for a few seconds. He battled his instincts and made himself smile. “I’m fine, Mrs. Delforth. But your…‌your Luke. Is he…‌Where is he? Where does he live?”

Mrs. Delforth lowered her gaze and resumed her knitting, her fingers getting even shakier. “Well, right now, I don’t know for sure. He likes his hunting, and it’s a joyous day for a bit of sport.”

He liked hunting. The words smacked Brian square in the chest. Luke Delforth was their man. He was Stag. Brian had to call in to work and get them down to Luke Delforth’s place as soon as Brian found out where he‌—‌

“But if he’s in, he’ll be downstairs,” Mrs. Delforth said.

Brian felt a follow-up smack in his chest, although this one made his legs feel weak. The momentary thought of the bacon butty he’d so craved just minutes ago was strong in his mouth, making him feel sick with its imagined fatty fumes, its over-crispy surface…

“He’s…‌he’s where, sorry?”

Mrs. Delforth tilted her head to her left, over towards the door back out to the hall. “Door you went past on your way to the kitchen. Does a lot of projects down there, my Luke. Funny sleeping pattern, you see. Likes being in the dark and cool in the day sometimes.”

The door at the side of the stairs. Brian looked out of the room towards it. It was white, and no larger than the door of an under-stair cabinet.

But there was a downstairs. A downstairs where Luke Delforth resided.

A downstairs where he kept his secrets.

“Don’t go disturbin’ my Luke just yet,” Mrs. Delforth said, her eyes still glued on the pink hat she was knitting. “He gets grouchy when he doesn’t get his kip.” She lowered the pink hat and lifted the sleeve of her nighty, revealing a huge green bruise.

But even as Mrs. Delforth revealed her son’s abuse towards his own mother, she still had that pitiful, “he’s just a lad” smile on her face.

Brian felt himself going dizzy, the reality of the situation catching up with him. He breathed in sharply. Closed his eyes for a split second, tried to ignore the heat that was coursing down his neck, through his body.

He had to ring the police. Get someone in to assist him. He couldn’t do this alone. He wasn’t even on duty. Anything could happen. Luke Delforth was clearly a professional, so Brian couldn’t take any risks.

Brian reached into his pocket and lifted out his iPhone, his fingers barely gripping it they were so tense. “Mrs. Delforth,” Brian said, keeping his voice as low as he could. “I…‌I need you to just keep knitting while I…” Brian tapped the screen, waited for his contacts to load, but it was taking forever. “While I…”

That’s when he heard the footsteps echoing somewhere to his right.

They were getting closer. Slowly, but surely, they were climbing the stairs.

And then, Brian heard the door beside the staircase creaking open.

“Looks like you woke my Luke anyway,” Mrs. Delforth said.

As Brian stood there, heart pounding, entire body frozen, Mrs. Delforth still had that unknowing, deluded, one-toothed smile on her weathered old face.

Chapter Forty

Brian’s heart pounded as he stood rigid in the middle of Mrs. Delforth’s muggy living room. The door beside the stairs‌—‌the door leading down to Luke Delforth’s cellar, or whatever it was‌—‌had creaked open. He’d heard the footsteps. Heard the footsteps slowly echoing up the staircase, getting closer.

But now, he heard nothing.

He held himself rigid, still. Held himself rigid, his vision blurred, nothing seeming quite real. Had Luke Delforth gone? Had he climbed back down the stairs? Was Brian going completely insane?

“I have…‌I have to…” Brian started, looking over his shoulder at the dusty window, the cobweb-covered cream curtains beside them. “I have to…”

And that’s when the footsteps started again.

Only this time, they weren’t climbing the stairs. They were walking across the carpet outside the living room.

Without even thinking things through, Brian threw himself over towards the curtains and opened them up. There was something underneath them. Something solid. He could hide behind them. It wouldn’t look any different if he were behind them, not if he perfectly replicated how this thing looked.

Fuck. He scrambled at the curtains with his shaky hands, the slow footsteps getting closer.

“What are‌—‌”

Brian swung around to face Mrs. Delforth and placed a finger across his lips.

He didn’t have much hope. He expected her to just shrug and smile back at him like it was all one big game.

But the look in her wide eyes. She looked frightened. Probably because of how frigging frightened Brian must’ve looked to her.

Brian crouched down amongst the dirt-covered old carrier bags. Old cobwebs brushed against his cheeks as he covered himself in the curtain, in the darkness. He heard the carrier bags rustling underneath his weight, rustling some more as he shuffled around and tried to make himself as small as possible.

He held his breath. Held his breath and closed his eyes. It was dark behind these curtains anyway, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to see Luke Delforth walk over to him and blow his cover.

The footsteps stopped right outside Mrs. Delforth’s lounge door. Brian held his breath some more, a million scenarios running through his head. He had to ring the police. He had to ring Brad. He had to ring someone.

“Oh hello, love,” Mrs. Delforth said. “You’re back early.”

The person at the other side of the door didn’t respond. There was silence for a few moments.

Until the footsteps started to creak their way into the living room.

“Made you a new hat like you asked,” Mrs. Delforth said, joy in her voice. “Is‌—‌is this how you like it, my boy?”