The Domino Killer (18 page)

‘What is it?’

‘Sorry, Charlotte, but I’ve got to go home. We’ll try to work out how this all fits and then we’ll go to Brabham in the morning. But there’s family stuff going on I’ve got to sort out.’

And in the meantime, he thought, he needed to find Joe. Sam remembered Joe’s long-held promise to kill Ellie’s murderer. Was that moment getting closer?

The light was fading as Joe sat in his car close to Proctor’s house. He was slumped in his seat so that he couldn’t be seen. His fingers tapped out a fast rhythm on his knee.

Proctor lived in one of the poorer parts of the city. They were once grand houses, Edwardian four-storeys with stone bay windows and front gardens bordered by millstone walls, but they’d mostly been converted into flats and bedsits. The pavements were cluttered with wheelie bins and takeaway wrappers were strewn across front gardens. A group of five men loitered on a wall, smoking and talking, watching the day drift along.

Joe didn’t know them but they were just like so many of his clients. Scrawny, their T-shirts hanging from their shoulders, the skin on their forearms mottled and with crude black markings where boredom had ended with homemade tattoos, words badly scratched into their skin. A cigarette was passed along the line, but the way each cherished it told Joe that it contained more than just tobacco.

He was prepared to wait it out. He had to. Nothing was happening. The street had got busier, people talking over walls, going from house to house, except no one visited Proctor. So Joe had sunk into his seat, grinding his teeth, trying to calm himself, but all the time the blood raged through his brain, flushing his cheeks, his head filled with the pressure of barely contained rage.

Joe tried to think of a plan but it eluded him. He was being driven by emotion. He’d waited for this moment but never really expected it, so all he could do was let his feelings guide him. He knew one thing though: Proctor had ramped up the pressure. He’d decided to target Joe by seeking out Ruby. He wasn’t going to let that go.

Joe closed his eyes for a moment. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. Everything that had become stable about his life seemed to be in tatters. Gina was gone and now Proctor was tormenting him.

He opened his eyes and tried to refocus. He couldn’t think about himself. He took a deep breath and flexed his fingers. He was ready.

Sam burst into his house. ‘Alice?’

She came from the living room. ‘Sam? What the hell?’

‘Where’s Ruby?’

‘I’m in here!’

Sam went through to the living room. Ruby was lying on the floor, helping Emily fill in a colouring book. Amy was kneeling and watching. Emily and Amy both grinned their greetings but didn’t leave Ruby; she didn’t visit often. Ruby rolled her eyes and said, ‘Hi, big bro.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Not here,’ Alice said, pointing towards the girls.

‘In the kitchen, Ruby.’

She groaned and got to her feet, stomping into the kitchen, Alice with her.

‘You’re as bad as Joe,’ she said, once the door closed.

‘What happened?’ Sam said.

So she told him about Mark Proctor and how Joe had reacted.

Sam leaned back against the wall and let out a long sigh.

‘Sam, is everything all right?’ Alice said, and put her hand on his arm.

His smile flickered. ‘Yes, fine,’ he said, and then to Ruby, ‘I think Emily and Amy need you.’

Once she’d left the kitchen, Sam said, ‘Has everything been all right tonight? No visitors?’

‘Don’t, you’re scaring me.’

‘Has there?’

‘No, it’s been quiet.’ Alice scowled. ‘Tell me.’

He put his arms around her and pulled her in close. She was surprised at first, holding back, but she let him wrap her up.

‘Do you remember after last year, when I almost lost you,’ he murmured. She stiffened. ‘I let danger come into our house, my job brought it your way, and I promised I’d never let it happen again.’ He kissed her hair. ‘I intend to keep that promise.’

Alice pulled away. She wiped her eye. ‘I don’t want to think about that time.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, but do you remember the man I was telling you about this afternoon? The man who Joe thinks killed Ellie.’

‘I remember. What about him?’

‘That’s the man who spoke to Ruby at school today. That was his way of saying he knows who we are and where we live.’

Alice’s hand went to her mouth. ‘No one’s been here.’ She closed her eyes and forced out more tears. ‘I’m worried, Sam.’

Sam cursed himself. He’d dealt with it badly. ‘Don’t be. I think he’s just trying to unsettle Joe.’

‘But he’s a murderer, according to Joe.’

‘Yes, and if he is, I’ll catch him.’

‘Are you sure we’re safe?’

‘Positive.’ He took her hand. ‘But I’m not leaving you tonight. I’m home now. My case can wait until tomorrow.’

‘But what about Joe?’

‘I’m not leaving tonight.’

‘He looked so angry, Sam. He was different. You need to find him, before he does something stupid.’

‘I’ll call him.’ And Sam took his phone from his pocket.

‘And if he won’t talk to you?’

‘Then he’s on his own.’

Joe’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen:
Sam
. He thought about not answering, he didn’t need a sensible voice, but then he remembered Ruby.

‘Hi,’ Joe said.

‘What’s going on?’ Sam said. ‘Where are you?’

‘Everything’s fine.’

‘It doesn’t sound like it. Mark Proctor was waiting for Ruby outside school, for Christ’s sake,’ Sam said. ‘Proctor knows you recognised him. But how could he know?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘In the day or so since he became your client, he’s been able to work out Ruby’s movements?’ Sam was incredulous.

That hadn’t occurred to Joe.

Joe could accept the coincidence of Proctor being in the police station. He’d done something wrong and Joe had become high profile as a criminal lawyer. He could understand why Proctor might ask for him. But as he thought about it, Sam was right. Proctor had known who he was all along. He knew all about Ruby and where she went to school; he knew where Joe lived.

‘He’s been watching us,’ Joe said. A cold shiver ran through him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that. He must have been watching us for a while. That’s why he asked for Honeywells when he was arrested: he knew who I was and he wanted to taunt me.’

Sam was silent for a moment. ‘Who have you brought into our lives?’

‘Fuck off,’ Joe said, and ended the call. He turned off his phone. Sam would ring back, full of apology, but he wasn’t in the mood for hearing it.

He looked across at Proctor’s house. It seemed even gloomier in the light of early dusk. The paintwork was faded and there were no splashes of colour. No bright curtains, no hanging baskets of flowers. It was as if Proctor wanted to fade into the background and be invisible, even to his neighbours. There was a car parked on Proctor’s drive, a car-hire logo in the back window: a temporary, replacement, Joe guessed, for the car Proctor had burnt out.

It was just after eight before anything happened.

Proctor came out of the front door and looked around. Joe’s stomach tightened. There it was, the furtive look, Proctor’s hunched shoulders. The same as years earlier. Joe wound down his window and listened out. There was no one talking; just the clunk of a car door and then the sound of an engine.

Proctor’s car reversed out of the drive and then turned away from Joe. That was good. He wouldn’t have to do any lengthy manoeuvres to turn around. He turned on his engine and started to follow.

Proctor headed towards the motorway. Joe kept him in sight, tucked in behind a lorry but able to see far enough ahead to keep the hire car in view. Eventually Proctor turned off at the Trafford Centre, a huge shopping mall on the edge of Manchester. Joe stayed with him but wondered whether all the effort was just to watch him shopping.

Joe followed Proctor into the covered car park, the world thrown into semi-darkness. Proctor was moving quickly, ignoring spaces, as if he knew where to head for. Joe found a space where he would have a view of the exit and waited. He knew that if he followed Proctor into the shopping centre, the other man would spot him. Instead, he would sit tight, wait until Proctor left. He put his head back, impatient and edgy, not knowing how long he’d be there.

The next thirty minutes dragged. Joe had to stay alert, but the only thing to distract him was the occasional group of shoppers returning to their cars.

Then there was movement ahead. Proctor’s car heading for the exit, Joe temporarily blinded by the headlights.

He turned on the ignition and set off after him, the screech of his tyres echoing as he cut across empty parking bays to make sure he didn’t lose him.

Joe caught sight of him near the lights. Proctor was four cars ahead. The lights changed to green and the traffic crawled forward. The driver of the car in front was distracted by something he was being shown so he was slow to react. Joe was going to pip his horn but he didn’t want to make Proctor look in his mirror. Instead, Joe cursed and pulled into the inside lane, making a car behind brake, and accelerated hard through the lights.

They changed to red before he reached them but he didn’t care. The traffic to his right had started to move but Joe put his foot down and rushed through, getting ahead and within a couple of cars of Proctor.

They both rejoined the motorway and began the steady circuit of Manchester. Proctor wasn’t going home; the route was taking him the wrong way, so Joe wasn’t surprised when he turned off towards Worsley, an area of wealth and gentility squashed between the grittier parts of Eccles and Salford.

Proctor didn’t go far. They’d driven just a couple of hundred yards when he pulled into a space at the side of the road. Joe didn’t slow down, not wanting to look obvious, so he drove further along until he found his own space. As he turned off his engine and looked back, he caught a glimpse of Proctor disappearing over a bridge over the canal, just his hood visible.

Proctor had chosen a pretty location to visit. Restaurants and estate agents lined the road that ran alongside a canal. The area was open and with views towards large houses with Tudor-style eaves and trees that drooped their branches over the water. A small wrought-iron bridge crossed the canal, lined with cobbles, leading to a path running between two houses, lit by Victorian lamps. Canal boats were moored up at the side of the water and the nearby motorway provided a soothing hum.

Joe walked slowly. He didn’t know where Proctor had gone but he would have to come back this way, and Joe didn’t want a confrontation in a dimly lit pathway.

The path led to a large space of grass brightened by patches of daffodils that caught the glow of the street lights. It was a large open semicircle with a village-green feel. Joe peered around the corner and then ducked back when he saw movement in the distance. There was a structure ahead, a brick shelter or monument perhaps, the detail lost in the night, but in the middle of it was Proctor, in a hooded top, his hands thrust into his pockets.

Joe took a deep breath. He shook his head, almost laughed out loud. This was his proof that he couldn’t carry out his promise. Proctor was somewhere dark, alone and isolated, but still Joe hung back. He had the chance and he couldn’t take it. He wasn’t like Proctor. He wasn’t a killer.

A few minutes passed. People were starting to notice him. A woman walking a small dog had crossed the bridge but turned back when she saw Joe. A teenage couple had walked through and headed across the green, where there was a steady stream of headlights heading towards the motorway.

Joe looked round again. Proctor was still there.

He pulled back, closed his eyes. He wondered whether he should go back to his car. What could he say if Proctor walked round the corner and saw him?

But then he thought of something else: Ellie had been attacked along a quiet path. Was Proctor waiting to do the same? Had he come here to attack another young girl? This was Joe’s chance to make a difference and catch him in the act.

There was a noise. A shout. Footsteps.

As Joe looked round, someone was running across the green, footsteps thumping. Joe looked back towards the small stone structure. There was something on the floor.

Joe tried to keep his footfall light, but the early evening was quiet and every footstep seemed to announce his arrival. When he got closer, he dodged behind a tree and moved a branch to one side to get a view. He scoured the area for movement. There was nothing.

Then Joe gasped. Proctor’s hood was on the floor.

He moved closer still, and there was the bright sheen of skin in the dim lighting. A face. It wasn’t just the hood. Proctor was down.

Joe ran towards him. He skipped up the stone steps, his body tense, ready to run in case it was a trap. His foot slipped. There was something dark and wet on the floor, sticky like blood. He grimaced and looked back down again. It was hard to make out much in the dusk, but he could tell that it was a person on his back, his arms by his side.

Joe gasped. It was the person he’d been following; he recognised the hooded top, but there was blood all over it now. There was a deep wound in his neck, just below his ear.

The metallic smell of warm blood wafted towards him. He turned away, fighting the urge to vomit. Once he’d controlled his breathing, he bent down over the body and put his ear to the man’s chest. There was no heartbeat. He remembered something he’d seen in a film, so he grabbed his phone and held the glass screen over the man’s mouth. There was no misting.

Joe clicked on the flashlight on his phone to turn it into a small torch. He shone it towards the man’s face, then immediately turned away, gasping.

The wound in the neck was deep and wide. Blood soaked the ground beneath his head. There was more blood coming from under his back and there was a large red circle in his chest. The ground around him was awash with blood, splashes of it dripping from the side of the bench nearest to the body. Joe looked at his hands. There was blood on them.

His mind swam with panic. He’d followed the person to this park. People had seen him loitering nearby, his footprints would be in the blood. How the hell could he explain all that?

There was something else too: the dead person wasn’t Mark Proctor.