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Authors: Howard Linskey

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‘You seem pretty relaxed about it,’ said Tom.

Bradshaw shrugged. ‘Well, let’s see,’ he ruminated, ‘one of our own men, a guy I have been working with personally, turned out to be a multiple child killer and he killed himself in front of me. Compared to that, this is a walk in the park.’ And he let that sink in before adding, ‘And who are we going to arrest? The murderer is dead, so is his elder brother and Stephen, from what you tell me, isn’t fit to stand trial.’

‘No,’ admitted Tom reluctantly, ‘he probably isn’t.’

‘Case closed then,’ Bradshaw said and when Tom failed to contradict him he added, ‘So, what does the future hold for you now? You off back to London?’

‘He’s been offered a job on a lads’ mag,’ Helen said before Tom could answer.

‘A job on a what?’ asked Bradshaw.

‘It’s a new magazine for men,’ Tom said. ‘They want me to interview a bunch of celebrities, actresses, models, singers, easy work.’

‘I guess it would be for most people,’ said Bradshaw.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Won’t you get a bit bored? I mean you’ve got a skill, anyone can see that. You’re more like a copper than a reporter.’

‘I’ll
take that as a compliment,’ said Tom guardedly, ‘but only because it’s coming from you.’

‘Be a shame to waste it though.’

‘I haven’t said I’ll take the job,’ said Tom, deliberately not looking at Helen. ‘I might not. Maybe I’ll stay up here for a while. Do a bit of freelance.’

‘The North East is a big place and if you had a bit of inside knowledge,’ Bradshaw was regarding Tom intently, ‘then who knows what you might turn up?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Cards on the table, eh?’ Bradshaw looked tired then. ‘We are about to take a pounding from all sides. One of our own men turned out to be the one we were looking for all that time and we had no bloody idea. The press will say there’s no trust left between us and the people we police any more. They will try to paint a picture of an incompetent force that couldn’t spot a certified nutter when he was sitting in their own canteen.’

‘Well,’ answered Tom, ‘it’s true, isn’t it?’

‘I thought you might have been a bit more understanding,’ Bradshaw told him, ‘since you’ve been drinking with a paedophile.’

‘Fair point,’ conceded Tom, ‘so you’re saying guys like that just can’t be spotted.’

‘I don’t quite know what I’m saying, except that there are still good people in this force and their morale is on the floor right now because one lone crazy man completely lost touch with reality. Maybe you could write something to that effect.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Vincent Addison was completely unhinged but he
appeared quite normal to his colleagues, well, reasonably so.’

‘That’s just your opinion. What would I base it on?’

The detective constable reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. ‘DCI Kane wanted you to take a look at this.’

‘So Kane sent you,’ accused Tom.

‘Nobody sent me. I came to talk to you about the Sean Donnellan case,’ and when Tom gave him a disbelieving look he held up his hands. ‘All right, Kane gave me the letter and asked me to show it to you when I saw you next. He knows we …’ and Bradshaw seemed to be searching for the correct phrase, ‘cooperated,’ he explained. ‘We found this at his home. He didn’t even hide it, just left it on a table for us in case anything happened to him.’

‘What is it?’

‘An explanation,’ and Bradshaw took the letter from the envelope and handed it to Tom, ‘of sorts.’

Tom took it gingerly, ‘but this is evidence isn’t it? I’m not supposed to see this,’

‘The man’s dead. There won’t be a trial. Just say it’s from a police source and leave it at that,’ he instructed Tom. ‘Kane’s already cleared it,’ he added, ‘at the highest level.’ Bradshaw avoided letting Tom know of his resentment at the way DCI Kane managed to get a leak to a journalist officially sanctioned, when his own unofficial leaks to Tom Carney had come so close to costing him everything.

‘You mean your top bosses know you are showing this to a journalist?’

‘They are not stupid people. The alternatives don’t play well for anyone.’

Tom
opened the letter and was immediately struck by the erratic handwriting, which seemed to have been put down on the paper at speed and with some force.

He showed it to Helen and they read the letter together silently.

Vincent Addison’s words were a rambling, paranoid, delusional attack, on society in general and women in particular, whom he appeared to blame for all the troubles of the world. The letter was an unstructured diatribe, which quoted bible verse as a justification for his murders. Most strikingly, he seemed convinced that he wasn’t actually harming any of his victims, he felt sure he was saving them in fact.

‘
I am not killing little girls
,’ his spidery scrawl concluded at the foot of the page, ‘
I am making angels. Suffer the little children to come unto me.’

When Tom had finished the letter, Bradshaw said, ‘Now you can see what we were up against.’

Tom was still contemplating the motives of a man who had murdered four terrified, little girls for nothing, so they could be transformed into angels. ‘He was a madman,’ he said. ‘All of this suffering because of a twisted belief in God.’

‘Much of the evil in the world is committed in the name of religion,’ the detective reminded him, ‘always has been, always will be.’

‘I’ll write a piece,’ Tom told him.

‘And your angle?’

‘That nobody could have spotted this delusional madness festering inside any man.’

Bradshaw
thanked him. ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you around then,’ he told Tom before he left.

When he was gone, neither Helen nor Tom felt like talking for a while. Instead they sat on the bench watching as pedestrians and passing cars went by. Helen marvelled at the way the village just seemed to carry on. She knew it was ridiculous but somehow she wanted it to stop and collectively acknowledge the seismic events it had just witnessed. Instead the scene looked as calm and peaceful as ever.

She couldn’t have known it but, next to her, Tom was thinking too. He was struggling to find the right words. Tom knew Helen would soon announce that she had to be going and that, once the spell of working on this murder together had been broken, once the unreal bubble they had been encased in for days had burst, they might not have a cause to ever see each other again. Right now, for reasons he didn’t want to think too closely about, Tom was desperate to avoid that happening. He needed to explain to her that she was wrong to stick with this boyfriend who would never appreciate her or her career. He wanted to say that though he had no idea what his future would bring, he wanted her to be some part of it.

He also knew Helen well enough to realise that if he said any of this right now, she would panic. He’d be left feeling like an idiot while she swiftly disappeared from his life forever.

‘What?’ she asked him suddenly.

‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘But what are you thinking?’ she prompted and she
seemed a little nervous then, as if she was concerned at what he might say next.

‘I’m thinking,’ he began, ‘that after the day we just had, I could really use a drink,’ then he looked at her hopefully. ‘Can I buy you one?’

‘No,’ she told him firmly, ‘you can’t,’ and before he could protest she climbed to her feet. Just when he thought she was going to leave him sitting there on that bench all on his own, she stretched out a hand to him and said, ‘I’m buying you one. Come on.’

Acknowledgements

I
would like to say a huge thank you to everyone at Penguin Random House for their faith in this book. In particular I owe a massive debt to my editor, Emad Akhtar, for believing in
No Name Lane
and working tirelessly with me to improve it. It has been a pleasure grafting with him and we didn’t come to blows once.

I am lucky enough to be represented by the best literary agent in the UK, Phil Patterson at Marjacq. I would like to thank ‘Agent Phil’ for all of his help, good judgement and friendship over the years and for always believing in me. I would also like to thank Luke Speed at Marjacq for his hard work on film and TV options and Sandra Sawicka for her dedicated handling of foreign rights.

No Name Lane
wouldn’t have been a Howard Linskey book without the fine judgement and attention to detail of Keshini Naidoo. Thanks for helping me get to the end, Keshini.

A special thanks to Ion Mills and everyone at No Exit Press for giving me a big break and exhibiting grace and class at every turn along the way. My thanks also to Peter Hammans and all at Droemer Knaur in Germany.

The very fine actor of both stage and screen, Dave Nellist, also deserves my gratitude and respect for bringing my work to life in the audio books.

I would like to thank the following for their help, kind words and faith, all of which sustained me during the
years when a more sensible person would have given up entirely: Adam Pope, Andy Davis, Nikki Selden, Gareth Chennells, Andrew Local, Stuart Britton, David Shapiro, Peter Day, Tony Frobisher and Eva Dolan.

My lovely wife Alison has put up with my writing for years now, along with all the ups and downs that go with it and she never stopped believing I would make it into print. I couldn’t have completed this book without her unflagging support, for which I thank her wholeheartedly.

Finally, I must thank my wonderful daughter Erin, who makes me smile every day and turns my world into a much better place. Thanks for your love and very kind heart Erin. Your dad couldn’t have done this without you.