Kissing the Demons (30 page)

‘That figures,' Emily said, looking down at the doll. ‘When I saw McNeil he talked about his wife and baby – even had a photo of them on his desk. The family man. Is that what's behind all this, Joe? Is he playing a part so women will trust him? And if there is a wife where is she now?'

‘Where is he for that matter?'

When they got downstairs Joe looked round again. This time he spotted something he'd missed the first time. A photograph on a shelf at the far end of the room amongst an assortment of paperbacks that looked unread.

Joe picked it up and looked at it. It was of a woman in a wedding dress but she wasn't the woman whose picture had stood on the desk in McNeil's office. When he examined it carefully he could tell that the picture had been folded over so that whoever was next to her – the bridegroom – had been cut out of the picture. Joe took the picture out of its frame and spread it out so he could see the whole image.

Paul Ferribie was instantly recognizable as the hidden bridegroom, even though the photo had been taken when he was in his twenties. And if Paul had been the groom it meant that the bride in the picture was Helen, Pet's missing mother. But why did Ethan McNeil have a photograph of her in his house? He showed it to Emily and she gave a puzzled frown. It didn't make sense. Yet.

‘Get the crime scene people to give this place a going over. And I want that office searched as soon as possible. We'd better keep looking for that carpet and we'll get Carla Vernon down to the station for questioning while we're at it. She knows something, I'm sure of it.'

But there was no sign of the carpet in the house or the shed and a search of the office drew a blank. Carla Vernon claimed she had no idea where it was. Not that Joe trusted a word she said. In his opinion she was more than capable of lying to put them off the scent.

But he knew one thing for certain: once they found that carpet they'd find the killing place.

Kirsten opened her eyes. She felt as if someone was hacking pieces out of her brain and her mouth was dry. She needed more water. But at least now she'd sobered up. She didn't know why she'd got herself into that state and she swore it wouldn't happen again. Maybe once she'd avenged her sister she would start to live again.

After their parents died she'd neglected her sister, Kaitlin, to lead a life of arid selfishness. Men and drugs had been her priority when she and Kaitlin should have been a comfort to each other. She'd gone away and left Kaitlin to her fate; to a man who, in spite of an impressive royal name, came from a large Catholic family crammed into a small terraced house in a Liverpool street. He'd tried the priesthood but that hadn't lasted. Then after Kaitlin died he'd joined the police – a fine career for someone like that, a man who had let her sister die.

The thoughts swirled in her head as she tried to justify her actions and convince herself that she was in the right. When the doubts sometimes crept in she suppressed them rapidly. She wasn't falling for Joe Plantagenet's lies like her sister had done.

She heard a door open and close somewhere in the flat. He was back. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and sighed. She had intended to speak to him, to discover the truth, but her mind was fuzzy and there was no way she could muster the concentration to catch him out. She cursed herself for being so stupid. But intoxication of one kind or another had always been her weakness. She hadn't even grasped the opportunity to search for evidence as she'd intended to do.

She closed her eyes tight when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. There was no way she wanted to talk to him now as she knew that he might take advantage of her vulnerability to convince her of his innocence and that was something she couldn't face.

She thought he'd just peep in, see that she was asleep and go. But she heard his footsteps creeping towards her muffled by the carpet. She kept her eyes shut. She was in no state for conversation, polite or otherwise.

Then she felt something on her face. Something heavy and sticky sealing her eyelids together. And her mouth. She tried to scream but it was impossible to get the sound out. Her arms were pinioned behind her back and she felt herself being dragged off the sofa. But the more she struggled to resist, the tighter she was bound. Then she felt herself being flung on the ground and rolled over into something that smelled of damp and mothballs. Then she heard a zip being fastened and felt herself being moved at crazy angles so that her bruised limbs hit the floor. She felt as if she was being wheeled in some sort of large holdall, bound and disorientated.

Joe Plantagenet had gone too far this time, exposing her to a terror she hadn't experienced since childhood when the bad demons came to her in nightmares.

A few phone calls lured the team from the Saturday evening comfort of their homes and a thorough search was being made of McNeil and Dutton's offices. The motive behind the murders still baffled Joe. Why had the killer deprived each of his victims of one of their five senses? Maybe he'd explain when he was caught.

A patrol car had been sent to pick up Carla Vernon. Joe needed her to make a list of all the properties on McNeil and Dutton's books. Then it would be a matter of waiting for the search teams to do their bit.

Emily was pacing up and down the office gnawing at her nails and Joe knew how she felt.

Cassidy had been out when they'd tried him earlier but Joe tried his number again and this time he was in luck.

‘You're a friend of Ethan McNeil's . . .' he began as soon as he heard Cassidy's voice.

‘More of an acquaintance really. Ethan's a family man and he doesn't go in for male bonding.'

‘You said he was with you on the night of Pet's murder?'

‘That's right.'

‘What time did he leave? And I want the truth this time. Think carefully.'

There was silence at the other end of the line. ‘I said midnight, didn't I?'

‘If you tell us it was earlier, you won't be incriminating yourself. I promise.'

‘You sure?'

‘Yes. We need the truth now. The exact time he left.'

Cassidy hesitated. ‘I might have exaggerated a bit because I knew I needed an alibi. I wasn't watching the clock but I think he left around ten thirty. Why?'

This was a question Joe didn't want to answer just at that moment. ‘I need to know if he owns any properties in Eborby.'

‘He's got a house in Hassledon. Bamford Road.'

‘Have you been there?'

‘Once.'

‘Was his wife there?'

‘She was away at her mum's. She spends a lot of time there. He met her down in London and they only came back to Eborby eighteen months ago. Come to think of it, I've never actually met her.'

Somehow this was what Joe had been expecting to hear. ‘Does he own any other properties? Please think carefully.

‘I don't know whether he's got rid of his parents' place. I came across it recently when I was looking for properties to develop – it was in a bit of a state so it was perfect for what I wanted. I contacted the Land Registry to find out who owned it and when I discovered that it was Ethan I was a bit surprised ‘cos he'd never mentioned it. When I asked him he said he'd inherited it from his parents and he hadn't decided whether to sell it or not.'

‘I take it his parents are dead?'

‘His mum died years ago and I think his dad died just before he came back to Eborby but I couldn't swear to it. Why are you asking all these questions?'

‘Where is this house?'

‘Flower Street, just south of the city centre. It's a detached Victorian place – looks a bit “house of horrors” ‘cos nobody lives there. But with a full refurbishment . . .' Cassidy hesitated for a moment. ‘Does this mean I'm in the clear?'

‘Thanks for your help, Mr Cassidy,' Joe said.

As he ended the call Jamilla hurried up to him. ‘Carla Vernon's been taken to McNeil and Dutton's office. Want me to come with you?'

‘Yes. But I've got a call to make first. McNeil owns a property in Flower Street and I want to get someone over there.'

Once he'd informed Emily about the Flower Street development and arranged for a patrol car to check the house for signs of life, he left the police station with Jamilla. Carla was waiting for them in her office, sitting at the desk she normally used, arms folded defiantly. ‘It's all nonsense,' she said. ‘Ethan wouldn't hurt anyone.' There was aggression in her voice. And something else – uncertainty perhaps.

Joe pushed her in tray to one side and perched on the edge of the desk, his eyes fixed on her face as though he didn't want to miss any telltale change of expression. ‘You seem very loyal.' He saw her blush. ‘Are you having an affair with Ethan?'

She looked away but Joe continued. ‘Correct me if I'm wrong but I think he's promised to leave his wife for you when the time's right.'

‘They have a young baby so he won't leave her in the lurch. I know that's no good for me but it shows that he's a decent man. He hasn't done anything. You're making a big mistake.'

Someone had to break the news and he reasoned it might as well be him . . . especially as a dose of truth might make her more willing to talk. ‘We don't think Ethan's wife exists, Carla . . . and there's certainly no baby. It's all a charade.'

She shook her head violently. ‘You're lying.'

‘When one of our officers went to Ethan's address to confirm Andrew Cassidy's alibi for the time of Pet Ferribie's murder, he spoke to a woman who said she was his wife. Was that woman you, Carla?'

‘His wife was away at her mother's with the baby so he asked me to stand in for her because he really couldn't afford the time to cope with all the intrusive questions the police ask people. He was at home but he didn't have anyone to vouch for him so I stepped in. You do understand, don't you? I was helping him.' She looked at him with pleading eyes and Joe couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her.

‘Did Pet Ferribie visit Ethan?' He took Pet's photo from his pocket and pushed it towards her. ‘She was trying to trace her mother who disappeared in Eborby some years ago.'

Carla hesitated. ‘Yes. She came to the office. She was going round all the estate agents. We couldn't help her.'

‘She saw Ethan?'

As Carla nodded Joe was sure that he now knew the identity of Suit Man.

‘We need a list of any properties he has access to in or near the Fleshambles area.'

For a moment Carla looked as though she was about to refuse. But after a few seconds she stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet near the door. She took out a file and handed it to Joe. ‘These are details of all the office premises we're handling round there.'

Joe handed the file back to her. She'd be able to do this quicker than he would. ‘Just make a list.'

As she began work Joe's mobile rang.

When he answered it he heard Sunny's voice on the other end of the line. ‘We're at that house in Flower Street. He's not here but a window was open round the back so we let ourselves in . . . just to check that all was well of course.' Joe could imagine Sunny giving a meaningful wink as he said the words. ‘You should come down here and see the place. It's seriously weird.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘You'll have to see for yourself. I've let the boss know and she's on her way.'

‘Any sign of McNeil?'

‘A neighbour saw him driving up in a van earlier. He went into the house then came straight out again, as though he'd changed his mind.'

‘Thanks, Sunny. Get the place sealed off and I'll be there as soon as I can.'

As he ended the call he heard Carla's voice. ‘There are only two places. One in Queen's Square and one on the Market Square.'

‘Are you sure that's all?'

He suspected that she was lying so he took the file from her but when he looked through it, it seemed that she was right. Only two office properties fitted the bill.

His mobile rang and this time it was his neighbour, Shirley; a sensible and rotund woman in her sixties and owner of several cats. He'd told Kirsten to ask her for his spare key and he assumed that was the reason for her call.

‘Sorry to bother you, Joe, but I found your flat door wide open. I gave that lady the key like you said and I went inside to check she was alright but . . .'

He realized that Shirley sounded worried. ‘What is it, Shirley? What's the matter?'

‘When I went in there was nobody there. And it looked as though there'd been some sort of struggle. I really think you should come back and have a look.'

He turned to Jamilla. ‘Sorry, I've got to go. You see what else you can find out here and get someone to check out those premises.'

Jamilla followed him to the door. ‘Everything OK?' she asked, lowering her voice.

‘My neighbour's just called to say there's a problem at my flat. I'll get round there then I'll join Sunny at Flower Street. You OK here?'

Jamilla nodded, glancing at Carla who was sitting at her desk staring ahead, her lips set in a stubborn line. ‘I'll try and get her talking.'

Joe thanked her and rushed off. If Kirsten was playing silly games at a time like this he'd be very angry.

As Kirsten was driven away she felt as though she was about to suffocate. She was trapped in what she assumed was a large case or holdall with soft canvas sides and her whole body felt as though she'd been thrown from a great height. She tried to call out but her mouth was taped shut. There was tape over her eyes too, and over her ears, and she couldn't move her limbs. She was in a dark unsteady world without sensation. When she'd accused Joe Plantagenet of killing her sister, she'd never thought for one moment that he was capable of anything so cruel, so calculating. It took a lot of hatred to take revenge like this.