Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1) (12 page)

As they were getting into the police car, the older uniformed officer called from the front door. "Ma'am …" He tipped his head towards the house.

"Excuse me for a second, Mr Crosby."

His heart was beating like a big bass drum in his throat. They couldn’t have found his box that quick, could they? They were only supposed to be securing the house.

Brian watched as the blonde detective limped up the path. He held his breath until he felt light-headed and let the air out in a huge sigh.

The detective listened to what the officer had to say. They both turned to look at him before they re-entered the house.

He was done for and he knew it. Why else would they have looked at him that way? His eyes were glued to the front door, his heart raced and his right leg twitched uncontrollably.

They came out. The officer remained by the front door and the detective limped back to the car and opened his door.

"Mr Crosby. PC Moore has made a discovery," she said, her tone flat.

Brian sat nodding his head, waiting for her to read him his rights. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"It's your wife, sir. She's dead."

Chapter 15

Adam

Once again, just as Adam's head hit the pillow, the phone rang.

As he jumped up, an image of Amanda flashed through his mind. "Stanley," he barked into the phone.

"It's Kate. Sorry to wake you, but I think you might want to come to the station."

"Give me twenty minutes." He hung up and raced to the bathroom. His first instinct had been to ask if Amanda was okay, but he hadn't wanted to appear too familiar. He knew it had to be something to do with the case though, or Kate wouldn't be ringing him. She was homicide and he missing persons, he wasn’t usually her go-to guy.

He splashed his face and dressed in record time, his mind racing. He was annoyed with himself for not going back to Amanda's house to tell her about the prowler in her garden. But he hadn't wanted to freak her out any more than she was already.

What if it had been Dennis and he had returned? Adam felt sick at the thought.

He pulled up outside the station and glanced at his watch. It was just after midnight. God only knows what time he would get back to bed. He preferred the station at this time of the night—things were generally a lot quieter and less hectic.

"Evening," he nodded at the desk sergeant as he walked through reception.

"Hello again, sir. I thought you'd already left."

"So did I, Stevens. Is Kate around?"

"Yes, sir. She's in interview room two. Got a funny little man with her, she has."

He let himself through to the back corridor. Peering in through the window of the interview room, he could see Kate and a barrel-shaped, balding, older man. He tapped on the window.

Kate held one finger up to him before standing, leaning most of her weight on her good leg.

He'd overheard a conversation in the staff canteen about what had happened to her. She'd been taken hostage six months ago and had forced her abductor to crash the vehicle he was driving into a brick wall. He'd died on the spot. She survived, but suffered a fractured hip and pelvis and her leg had been broken in several places. It had taken months to recover, and although she had little more than a limp on some days, other days she was barely able to walk at all.

She stepped into the corridor.

"Hi, Stanley. Thanks for coming in. I thought you might want to sit in on this interview. Brian Crosby. He called us tonight after his wife had vanished. He was adamant her disappearance had something to do with Dennis Kidd." She raised her eyebrows and waited for this news to sink in. "Apparently Dennis had been threatening him for the past few months and told him two weeks ago he would be contacting him."

"What's he been threatening him with?"

"That's what I thought you might want to find out. He used to work with Annie at the school—he was caretaker there. What I want to know is why a known paedophile would have something on him? And if it's nothing, why not report the threats to the police in the first place?"

"And the wife?"

"A very sick lady. She’d gone missing from their home tonight, or so he thought when he called us. He said Dennis must have been around to give her a going over like he'd done to Annie."

"And you don't believe this by the sounds of things?"

She shook her head. "No. Mainly due to the fact that one of our officers found Mrs Crosby upstairs in the spare bedroom—dead as a doorknob. Looks like natural causes, according to the coroner, but we'll need a post-mortem to be sure.

Chapter 16

Brian

"Why am I still here? This is pointless. I've done nothing wrong!" Brian was dog-tired and distraught at the news of his beloved wife's death. He needed to go home.

"We have a few more questions, Mr Crosby. This is Detective Stanley," DI King said, nodding in the direction of the hulk of a guy who came in behind her.

"I don't get it—you've found Barbara. I made a mistake. She sometimes goes into the back room to get my attention when I’m outside. I didn't see her, that’s all." He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. "That’s the only window in the house that overlooks the shed. She doesn't like my shed. She hates—hated, spiders."

"I understand, Brian. However, we still have Annie's murder to solve and no leads, so we need your cooperation." She sat back down in front of him and Detective Stanley pulled up a chair next to her.

"I’ve told you everything I know, already." Brian felt claustrophobic. He reached for the glass in front of him, but his hand trembled so badly he spilled most of the water down the front of his rust coloured sweater.

"I don't believe that, Brian. Please tell Detective Stanley what you told me earlier?"

Brian sighed. "I … I thought Dennis had come to my house and harmed my wife, like he's done to Annie. But I made a mistake, and now I need to go home."

"So—bear with me, Mr Crosby, but I'm finding this hard to understand. Your wife wasn't where you left her and straight away you think she's been murdered?" The male detective's deep Mancunian voice reverberated around the small room.

"Yes," Brian whispered, aware of how stupid he sounded.

"You didn't think to search the house before calling the police?"

"No, sir. I mean yes, sir. She was in the house, my poor, poor Barbie. In the spare bedroom. We never use that room and although I did look in there, I didn't see her. She’d fallen at the far side of the bed underneath the window." His voice shook and tears threatened to spill over.

"What made you suspect Dennis Kidd had something to do with her disappearance?"

Brian wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "He used to write to me, ask me to send him certain things. I even went to see him once. I know what he did to those kiddies was wrong but he always seemed okay to me." His hands shook so much the glass was making a racket on the table.

Kate King bent forward and took it from him. "Calm down, Brian. Take your time."

"Where are the letters?" Hulk said.

"I got rid of them. Barbara would have gone berserk if she'd known I'd been in touch with him."

"Then why do it?" Kate asked.

"I don't know. Because he wrote to me, I guess."

"Did it not bother you that people would think you were involved? Did that not occur to you at all?" she said.

The look of feigned bewilderment on DI King's face made him feel ridiculous. Brian sagged into his chair as though his bones had turned to jelly. "Of course it did, but what could I do? He was a dangerous man."

"You said he was okay until a few weeks ago. And anyway, he was in prison, he couldn't have harmed you if he'd wanted to. No, Mr Crosby, there's more to this and unless you're honest with us, you'll be going nowhere fast." DI King leaned forward again, her lips tight as she glared at him.

Brian tried to ignore the nagging voice in his head reminding him of the promises he'd made when he was praying for his wife to show up. He'd sworn to the heavens that he would confess all if she were found.

But once she had been found he couldn't bear to tell the truth, couldn't face everyone knowing his secret. He had to get home though, he needed to contact his children and arrange Barbara's funeral. Also, he intended to dispose of the box once and for all. But to do that he knew he'd have to give the police something before they'd consider letting him go.

"I found out about them, before everyone else did. I found out they were messing around with them kiddies," he blurted out. "Dennis warned me to keep my mouth shut—said he'd tell everyone I was involved. Everyone knows shit sticks whether it's true or not. I worked at the school with Annie. People love that sort of scandal."

"So, let me get this straight. You’re saying you knew they molested young children yet you said nothing just to cover your own behind?" Hulk said, his top lip lifted, showing his teeth.

"Yes, sir. And then they got caught. At first I thought they would blame me for blabbing and send the police after me. The first letter came and I shit myself, but he only asked for cigarettes."

"So what changed?" Detective King said.

"I don't know,” he shrugged. “I think because he was getting out and needed money and stuff. He thought I was a soft touch, 'cause I had been in the past, but I couldn't give him anything. I'm on a pension now. What would I tell Barbara? So, I ignored his demands. Then two weeks ago I received a hand-delivered note. He said he would collect what was owed to him—he threatened me. I wish I'd kept it now."

"Is that everything, Mr Crosby, because if we find out you’re lying to us we'll come down on you like a sack of shit, you hear me?" The hulk’s booming voice shook Brian to the core.

"Yes, I swear to you. When I saw the news tonight, I panicked. I realised he was capable of more than threats."

"So you think he's responsible for the murder of Annie Duncan?"

"I'd put my life on it, sir.

Chapter 17

Amanda

I turned over and stretched. Tired of trying to sleep. Tired of tossing and turning. Tired of being bone tired.

I'd got into Emma's bed in the end, creeped out that the police had been through my stuff. My bedroom looked like a crime scene. The drawers had been left wide open and the contents were in an untidy mess.

I cringed at the thought of nosy Mrs Corless across the street. She would have seen everything and been in her element. I'm sure the stories would be rife among the neighbours by now.

The way Michael had taken the children hurt like hell, but deep down I was relieved. At least this proved he was taking me seriously. I still felt sure that someone was watching me, and now, with Annie's murder, I didn't want my kids at risk.

I got out of bed. Emma's window-seat overlooked the small back garden. As I sat down a slight movement caught my eye and my heart lurched. A cheeky fox snuffled through the undergrowth. I steadied my breathing and laughed. "Hello, Mister Fox, you almost gave me a heart attack," I whispered, my breath fogging up the glass.

My mind was in turmoil. I'd been certain Dennis was responsible for Annie's murder but now I wasn't so sure. His prey had always been children—not adults. And although Annie had testified against him she'd been a willing partner and I was sure he’d never abused her. But then again, he was a stranger to me now, and prison had probably made him even more of a monster than he already was.

Annie had been a schoolteacher when she met my dad. I didn't know if she’d already had perverted tendencies, but my guess is that she was so in love she'd have done anything to please him.

The parties had started when we were very young. Dad and Annie would dress Andrew and me in skimpy outfits. We had to wait on the guests, fetching bottles from the fridge. Annie taught us how to pour them into a glass. Sometimes we were given money—not a lot, but Andrew and I would split whatever we were given between us at the end of the night. We had a wonderful time in those early days, being too young to realise what was actually going on.

That had been the start.

The men would sit us on their knees and bounce us up and down. We didn't know it was wrong. I remember one man who used to live down the street. He had what I now know to be a huge hard-on. I remember he joked that he had something for me down his trousers. Everybody laughed. I didn’t understand then, but now I know why they all found it so funny—the sick bastards. At the time, I was puzzled and upset that I didn't get my present from him.

One night one of Dad's friends woke me. He spoke in hushed whispers, telling me to lie still.

This was the first time warning bells went off in my head. I was on the top bunk, Andrew underneath. I didn’t want to wake him so I never made a sound.

The man pulled the bedcovers back and twisted me around so my head was wedged up against the wall, and my legs hung over the edge of the bed. He pulled off my pyjama bottoms and underwear and stood there looking at me.

After a series of grunts, he made a long, groaning sound and then hurriedly pushed me back into bed. He tucked my clothing under the pillow and whispered that I'd be in a lot of trouble if I told anybody what
I'd
done. He said he wouldn't tell on me if I was a good girl.

I was petrified.

I didn't want to be in trouble. I didn't even know what I'd done wrong.

I lay still for a few minutes and then pulled my pyjamas out from underneath my pillow. I couldn't find my panties. I needed to pee so I put the pyjamas on and climbed down the ladder as quietly as I could.

Out on the landing I saw down into the hallway. The man was standing by the front door with my dad. I was worried that he was going to tell him what I'd done and get me into trouble. They were speaking in whispers, but I heard him thank my dad. They shook hands and Dad patted him on the shoulder as he left.

Looking back, I realise that maybe if I'd caused a scene that night it might have gone no further. My silence and cooperation gave my dad and his sick mates the green light they wanted.

But I was only eight years old!

Emma's pink, fleece bedspread was half on the floor. As I bent to pick it up I noticed the sparkly seahorse fastened to the corner of it. I'd put in my jewellery box the day after the zoo—I didn't want to chance Emma losing it before we found out where she’d got it from—bloody Michael. He must have given it to her again.

I sat on the bed. Another wave of sadness came over me and I pulled the bedspread across my legs and buried my face in Emma's pillow to stifle the sobs.