Nightshade: The Fourth Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller (14 page)

Candy laughed and Eric glared at her. He patted Bella on the shoulder. ‘You and me will go upstairs to the bathroom,’ he said. ‘Would you like a bubble bath?’

‘I just want to go home,’ said Bella. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her arm. ‘Please just let me go home.’

‘You are going home,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’

He took her by the hand and led her upstairs. First he would clean her, getting rid of any DNA evidence. Then he’d kill her. Then they’d drive her out to the New Forest and bury her near the others. And then the hunt would begin again.

I
nspector Hopkins yanked at the door. It was locked. He stepped back and considered giving it a kick, but he could see immediately that it was strong enough to take a lot of punishment. He looked around and saw a garden fork and a spade hanging from hooks on the wall. He grabbed the spade and headed for the garage door. ‘Come on, lad,’ he said. ‘Grab that fork and follow me.’

He ducked under the door and hurried around to the back of the house. The superintendent had said to stand by until the Armed Response Vehicle arrived, but the scream had changed all that. It was definitely a young girl and the sound had chilled his blood. It was a scream of a child in fear of her life.

He hurtled down the path to the back of the house. The kitchen door looked as solid as the one in the garage, but the window overlooking the rear garden was one large sheet of glass. Hopkins swung the spade back and brought it crashing through the window, turning his face to avoid any flying glass. Fisher joined him, and together they used their garden tools to hack away the remaining shards of glass.

Hopkins threw his spade through the window and crawled after it. He rolled over the windowsill, then wriggled across the sink and twisted so that he dropped feet first onto the kitchen floor. His shoes crunched on broken glass as he bent down to pick up the spade. Blood smeared across the handle and he realised that he’d cut his left hand. As he straightened up he saw Fisher struggling to crawl through the window. He leaned towards him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him through before running out of the kitchen.

There was a woman in the hallway, mid-twenties in a grubby sweatshirt and Adidas tracksuit bottoms. ‘Where’s the girl?’ shouted Hopkins.

The woman was in shock, her eyes were wide and her mouth open. She had an acne rash across her forehead and a tan that looked as if it had come from a bottle.

‘The girl?’ shouted Hopkins again, raising the spade with both hands.

The woman pointed up the stairs. ‘Bathroom,’ she said.

Hopkins walloped her left leg with the spade, just below the knee. As the leg buckled he pushed her face down on the floor, just as Fisher came running out of the kitchen. ‘Keep her down, and call the Super, fill him in,’ said Hopkins.

As he ran up the stairs, Fisher planted his foot in the middle of the sobbing woman’s back and fumbled for his phone.

Hopkins took the stairs two at a time, the blade of the shovel scraping against the wall. He reached the landing and looked around. There was a door open to his left and he hurried towards it, raising the spade.

There was a man leaning over the bath. Hopkins saw a mop of greasy brown hair, a Chelsea football shirt and combat trousers. ‘Police!’ he shouted. ‘Turn around.’

Hopkins stepped into the bathroom and saw what the man was doing. ‘You bastard!’ he screamed. The man had his hands around the throat of a girl, submerging her in the water.

Hopkins brought the spade crashing down on the back of the man’s head. It made a dull thudding sound and the man slumped forward. Hopkins dropped the spade, shoved the man to the side and grabbed the girl under her arms. He hauled her out of the water and hugged her to his chest, then carried her out of the bathroom. He laid her on the carpet and scraped her wet hair away from her face. She wasn’t breathing and he didn’t waste time feeling for a pulse. It had been years since he had been on any sort of first aid course but he remembered enough to check that her airway was clear before tilting her head back and putting his lips over hers to blow air into her lungs. The second his mouth touched hers he knew that he was wasting his time.

T
he woman was begging Fisher to let her up and complaining that she couldn’t breathe. Fisher had some plastic ties in one of the pockets of his overalls and he pulled one out to bind her wrists together. ‘You can’t do this to me, I’ve got rights!’ she shouted. ‘He hit me, he hit my leg with a bloody spade!’

Fisher stood up. As he took his phone out he looked down at the bloody gash on her leg. ‘You’ll live,’ he said.

‘I’ve got my rights!’ she shouted again.

Fisher called the superintendent and told him what had happened.

‘Do you have the girl?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Fisher.

‘What the hell do you mean you’re not sure? What are you playing at?’

‘I’ll check,’ said Fisher.

‘Check? What do you mean, check?’

Fisher hurried to the stairs. ‘Sir, the Super wants to know if the girl’s okay.’ There was no answer. ‘Sir?’ He headed up the stairs. The inspector was kneeling next to the naked girl, blowing into her mouth, then he sat back on his heels and began a vigorous heart massage. ‘Sir, is she okay? The Super wants to know if she’s okay.’

Fisher realised that there were tears streaming down the inspector’s face and that little Bella Harper wasn’t okay.

S
uperintendent Wilkinson climbed out of the car and squared his shoulders. There were two police vans parked outside the house, a white SOCO van and three regular patrol cars. Two Police Community Support Officers were marking a perimeter with blue and white police tape.

Detective Sergeant Sean McKillop had driven from the station and he got out and looked over at the superintendent. ‘No ambulance?’

‘There’s one on the way.’ Wilkinson belched and rubbed his stomach. He’d had indigestion since he’d taken the call from Detective Fisher. He’d already chewed two Rennies but took them out of his pocket and popped another two in his mouth.

He walked towards the house, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. Murder scenes weren’t pleasant places at the best of times, but dealing with a murdered child was just about the worst scenario imaginable. He knew that he would be the ranking officer. The top brass would be giving the crime scene a wide berth. If Bella had turned up alive they’d rushing over to take the credit, but no one wanted to be tainted with a dead child. That would be down to him, to stand in front of the cameras and give the bad news. His stomach lurched and he tasted vomit at the back of his throat.

As the superintendent ducked under the tape and headed for the front door, an ambulance arrived. There were no sirens or flashing lights, there was no need. Bella Harper was dead.

A uniformed constable was standing guard at the front door and he stepped aside to allow the detectives through. ‘Where’s the girl?’ asked the superintendent.

‘Upstairs,’ said the officer.

‘And the suspects?’

‘Sitting room, first on the right.’

The superintendent stepped into the hallway. There were two more uniformed officers there and a PCSO. They stopped talking as soon as they saw the superintendent and it was clear they hadn’t been discussing work. Wilkinson jerked a thumb at the door behind him. ‘Out,’ he said.

There were four more uniformed officers standing in the kitchen. ‘Will you get the hell out of the house – this is a crime scene, not a bloody meeting hall!’ shouted Wilkinson.

He went into the sitting room. There were another four uniformed officers there, one of them a sergeant that Wilkinson recognised. Denis Tyler, a twenty-year veteran of the Sussex police and an old school copper. Standing by the window was Aaron Fisher, white-faced and looking as if he was about to throw up. Sitting on an armchair by the TV was a woman in her twenties with an orange complexion and dyed blonde hair that looked as if it had been hacked with a breadknife.

There was a man on the sofa. He had greasy unkempt hair and a hooked nose over thin, bloodless lips. The man and the woman had their hands cuffed behind them.

‘What’s the story, Denis?’ asked the superintendent.

‘Eric Lucas and Candice Matthews. The girl’s upstairs.’ He pointed at Lucas. ‘He strangled her.’

‘Have they been cautioned?’

The sergeant shook his head.

Lucas slumped forward and Wilkinson saw that the back of his head was bloody. ‘How did that happen?’ he asked the sergeant.

‘They were like that when we got here.’

Wilkinson looked over at Fisher. ‘Inspector Hopkins hit him with a spade,’ said the detective.

‘And he hit me, too!’ shouted the woman. ‘Bloody animal, he is.’

‘Where is Inspector Hopkins?’

‘The stairs,’ said Fisher.

‘I want to go to the hospital,’ said the woman.

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said the superintendent. ‘We’ll get you a doctor at the station.’

‘I’m bleeding to death here,’ said the woman. ‘Have you seen my leg? I know my rights. I want to see a doctor.’

The superintendent nodded at Sergeant Tyler. ‘Get her out of here, Denis.’ He looked at Sergeant McKillop. ‘Put her in the car.’

‘He hit my Eric, too. Smashed his head in with a spade.’

The two sergeants reached down and helped her to her feet. ‘Police brutality, that’s what it is,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I can’t walk.’ She let herself go limp and the sergeants had to let her fall back onto the sofa. ‘If you make me walk, I’ll sue. I’ve got my human rights, I have.’

‘There’s an ambulance just arrived, get the paramedics to look at her,’ Wilkinson said to Tyler. ‘But no hospital. She can be treated at the station.’

‘What about Eric?’ said the woman. ‘He might have concussion. He needs a brain scan, that’s what he needs.’

The superintendent gritted his teeth. ‘Get them to look at him, then both of them to the station,’ he said.

As he walked back into the hallway, two paramedics appeared at the front door. One of them was holding a portable trolley. ‘Do me a favour, guys, and check out the two suspects in there,’ he said. ‘Do whatever first aid you need but I want them in the station ASAP.’

‘They said the girl’s dead,’ said the elder of the two paramedics.

‘Yeah. She’s upstairs.’

‘To be honest, we’d rather take care of her first. If that’s okay with you.’

The superintendent was about to argue, but then he saw the haunted looks on the men’s faces. Like everybody else they’d been following the case and hoping that the girl would be found and returned to her parents. He understood exactly how they felt. And if he had been in their place he wouldn’t have rushed to treat her killers either. He nodded. ‘Sure.’

He headed for the stairs and the two paramedics followed him. Inspector Hopkins was sitting on the stairs, his cheeks wet with tears. He looked up at the superintendent with unseeing eyes. There was an unlit cigarette in one hand.

‘Are you okay?’ asked the superintendent.

Hopkins shrugged. ‘Not really.’ The hand holding the cigarette was trembling.

Wilkinson gestured at the two paramedics. ‘They need to get upstairs to deal with Bella,’ he said. He put his hand on the inspector’s shoulder. ‘You need to move. Come on, let’s sit down in the kitchen. And put that cigarette away.’

Hopkins stood up and followed the superintendent down the hallway to the kitchen. The paramedics tramped upstairs with the trolley.

The superintendent pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and motioned for the inspector to sit down. Hopkins slumped down and put his head in his hands.

‘What happened to them?’ asked the superintendent. ‘Lucas and the woman?’

‘I hit them with a spade,’ said Hopkins.

‘You did what?’

‘There wasn’t time to be nice about it,’ said Hopkins. ‘She was in my way and he was drowning the girl.’

‘But a bloody spade, Dave.’

‘Call it a shovel if that makes it easier,’ said Hopkins. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘He was drowning her.’

‘So you hit him over the head with a spade?’

Hopkins shrugged.

‘You’ve got to pull yourself together, Dave,’ said the superintendent. ‘If they allege police brutality, Professional Standards will be all over you.’

‘Fuck them,’ said Hopkins. ‘They killed her.’

‘I hear you, but you need to get your story straight now. Professional Standards can be arseholes but they hate child-killers as much as you do. You have to give them the right story for them to give you a pass. And you have to have your story straight from the start. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Why were you holding the spade?’

‘I used it to break open the window in the kitchen. I’d heard the girl scream.’

‘Fisher will back you up on that?’

Hopkins sat back in his chair and nodded. ‘We both heard it.’

‘And why did you hit the woman? Think carefully, Dave.’

The inspector took a deep breath. ‘I came out of the kitchen and she was in the hallway. I identified myself as a police officer and asked her where Bella was. She came towards me in an aggressive manner and I used the spade to deflect her attack. I was then joined by PC Fisher who constrained her while I went upstairs.’

‘Excellent,’ said the superintendent, patting him on the shoulder. ‘What happened then!’

‘She’s breathing!’ The voice came from upstairs. ‘She’s okay!’ The two detectives both jumped as if they’d been stung. They looked at each other in astonishment.

Hopkins shot up out of his chair and beat the superintendent to the kitchen door. They hurtled down the hallway, shoving a white-overalled SOCO out of the way.

The younger of the paramedics was standing at the stop of the stairs, beaming from ear to ear. He flashed the detectives two thumbs up. ‘She’s okay!’ he shouted. ‘She’s bloody well okay!’

A
Sky TV crew had arrived outside the house just as the paramedics were pushing Bella out on the trolley. They wanted to film her being taken to the ambulance, but by the time they had the camera out she was already inside. As the ambulance sped off, the reporter hurried over to Wilkinson with her crew in tow. Wilkinson knew her, she’d been covering the Bella Harper abduction from Day One. Her name was Carol Khan and she was one of the more professional reporters he’d dealt with, so he decided to give her a statement.