The Christmas Killer (8 page)

The room was dark except for the flickering screen. Marcia Lamb led the evening news. Interesting coverage – enjoyable, even.

The first images came from the interstate construction site. A tarpaulin covered the body lying on the ground. A reporter was talking about the police investigation. A suspect had been taken in but released without charge late last night: a large black man who protested his innocence to the camera. Then the clip changed to earlier in the morning, outside the police station.

A group of people was gathered around the door of the station, drinking coffee and smoking. The press were out in force. That mouthy reporter was there. Ford.

There will be more media as it goes on. I know that. It’s a good thing. Necessary.

The screen showed Councilman Mitch Harper on the top step, addressing the press. He was dressed in a dark woollen coat, open to reveal his shirt and tie. The assembled reporters were in a semicircle looking up at him.

It won’t be long now. I’m sure of it. The forces are building. I can’t delay.

The report ended, and the broadcast moved on to the next segment. He was about to turn it off when something stopped him. A name from his past. The Chase Asylum. This was interesting too.
So the old asylum is being demolished? I haven’t thought about that place in years. So many memories … secrets …

The anchor’s voice dripped concern as he said, ‘A second skeleton has been unearthed. It is believed that both skeletons could be the remains of children who died in the very institution which was supposed to protect them.’

The report ended with an appeal for information by the FBI.
If the Feds are involved, they are taking this very seriously. More and more interesting
. The image of the missing man flashed on the screen. It was black and white, and clearly many years out of date. It showed a man in his mid-thirties with thinning hair and eyes that still radiated coldness.

The anchor concluded, ‘Investigators are now looking for Fred Lumley, the warden of the Chase Asylum.’

Old Fred. Who’d have thought?

‘Fred Lumley disappeared several decades ago, and has not been seen since.’

This is all meant to be …

He rubbed his hands together and smiled thoughtfully. ‘This is what you wanted.’

Jake sat on the sofa, his shoes off, drinking a beer as he watched the news. The way they spun it both interested and repulsed him. They – whoever ‘they’ were – had wasted no time in attaching the most sensational nickname they could think of to the murderer, to match the snowy imagery and stark black and white shots of Christmas trees that seemed to accompany every report.

The Christmas Killer.

And he was fascinated by the news from Springfield.

Downstairs was empty. An air of peace filled the house. As the news went to commercials he heard footsteps on the stairs. Leigh walked in. She was dressed in a robe with stains on it, and looked tired.

‘Babe, you look great,’ he lied. ‘I got us a Chinese.’

She smiled weakly. ‘We ate two hours ago. You have it. Whatever’s left I’ll heat up for lunch tomorrow.’

The Chinese had been his peace offering – so much for that.

‘I got a nice bottle of wine as well,’ he said.

Her smile brightened a little. ‘Now you’re talking!’

‘Tough day?’

‘You could say.’

She walked into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of wine, taking Jake’s beer bottle from him and putting it on the table.

‘Scooch over.’

He straightened up in the sofa, making room for her, and flicked off the TV. She sat down, leaning into him.

‘I could do with a head rub.’

Jake smiled. He enjoyed these moments when they made up, with the kids in bed, his mother in her room, and the den empty except for him and his wife. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Gently he shifted his body into the corner of the sofa while Leigh slid down until her head was resting in his lap. He began to massage her temples, moving his fingers in small circles. After every six circles he softly swept his fingers over her brow. It was a routine he had perfected over the years. Generally Leigh would fall asleep, and he would cover her with a blanket.

But tonight he could feel her tension. Despite her tired appearance he knew her mind was churning.

‘Where’s my mom?’ he asked.

There it was – he could feel her brow furrowing under his fingers.

‘Gone to bed, I think,’ she said. ‘We were watching the news a few hours ago and she suddenly got up and left the room.’

Jake grimaced. It made his mother sound like a
troublesome child. He remained silent but continued with the massage.

After a few minutes Leigh spoke again. ‘Faith is beginning to worry me.’

Jake had been married long enough to know that bland reassurance was not what Leigh wanted. Instead he made a non-committal grunt that could be interpreted as sympathy, encouragement or agreement … and waited.

‘Her behaviour is becoming more of a problem. She’s always moping. She doesn’t talk to me any more.’

‘She’s a teenager, honey. Did you talk to your mother when you were a teen?’

He should have kept his mouth shut. Leigh shuffled under him, then sat up straight. The head rub was over.

‘She’s twelve, not sixteen! She needs to show some respect, and she needs to help more. She just comes home from school and goes up to her room. Have you been in there? It’s a dump.’

‘It’s a phase.’ Out came the bland reassurance. ‘There’s been a lot going on. She’s just trying to cope.’

‘It’s more than that. Last night she was in our bed. That hasn’t happened since she was five. She’s clingy one minute, running away from me the next. And she’s been having nightmares again.’ She hesitated then dipped her head as she said, ‘Do you think having your mother here is healthy for a young girl?’

Jake felt a pang of hurt, but she ploughed on.

‘Jeanette’s behaviour is becoming more erratic every
day. Most of the time she doesn’t even recognize Faith. You’ve seen it too.’

He
had
seen it. He’d seen the rejection in his daughter’s eyes when her grandmother didn’t know who she was. But he wasn’t going to let Leigh blame his mother and her illness for everything that was wrong in this house.

‘There are other things going on that could have unsettled Faith.’

There was ice in her voice as she asked, ‘Other things?’

‘You know – the move and everything. New friends.’ But his backtracking wasn’t going to work.

‘Do you think Jakey is the problem?’ She looked incredulous, disgusted even. ‘Are you seriously telling me that the arrival of a baby brother has upset her this much?’

Jake changed tack.

‘I can’t move my mother to a home.’ He was pleading with her. ‘We could get a nurse. We have some money saved up now, and it won’t be for ever. I could get a good nurse, and that would help a lot.’

‘And have another stranger living in the house?’ snapped Leigh.

Jake felt his fists tighten. Now
he
was angry. ‘My mother is not a stranger,’ he said.

Leigh ducked her head. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong.’ She sighed and tried to place a hand on his leg, but Jake
reached for his beer to move out of the way. ‘What I meant was she’s changing all the time. She sometimes knows me, and sometimes I’m her sister, sometimes a shop girl. She’s
becoming
a stranger. And she needs more and more care every day. I already have a baby to look after.’

Jake downed the rest of his beer. He needed time to compose himself.

‘If Jakey needed special care we would give it to him. My mother is family and we’ll do what we have to. One thing we won’t do is shove her in a home at
Christmas.
’ He stood. ‘I need to get some air.’

‘Aw Jake, come on. Please …’

Jake could hear her but he couldn’t talk to her right now. ‘I’m going out for a walk.’

He went out to the hall and put on a heavy coat, pulling a woollen hat down over his ears. He almost slammed the door as he left but stopped himself.

His family was tense enough.

They could hear the raised voices of the reporters outside the police station. Jake didn’t have to go to the window to tell it was Councilman Harper again, walking up the steps with his usual bravado. He
arrived
rather than just entered, and the whole station saw him sweep through to the colonel’s office.

The detectives got to their feet when he walked in. Harper looked a little pissed off. The team had spent the night trying to track down Penny Stokes, Sonny Malone’s second girlfriend, to confirm the statement she had made over the phone. She wasn’t home, she wasn’t answering her mobile, and she hadn’t shown up for work that night. A few more calls had revealed that Sonny had split after his release. No one knew where he was.

Harper clearly was not going to be stalled or played with, like yesterday. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’

As the councilman sat down in the only comfortable chair in Asher’s office, Jake was surprised to see he was wearing yesterday’s shirt. Although he had shaved and showered, he looked a little less slick than the day before.

‘So, what happened?’ he began. ‘You told me yesterday you had a strong suspect.’

Asher cleared his throat. ‘We’re building the case against him. That can take time.’

‘Colonel, did this Sonny Malone kill Marcia Lamb, or didn’t he?’

‘He did,’ said Asher. ‘We’re building the case against—’

‘He didn’t,’ Jake interrupted. Asher scowled at him so Jake turned to Mills. ‘Right?’

‘A lot of the evidence could go either way,’ said Mills with a wavering of his head. Jake could have knocked him off the fence he was sitting on.

Asher leaned forward. ‘Councilman, we’re looking—’

Just then the phone on Asher’s desk buzzed. He picked it up and dropped it back, cutting it off. The phone buzzed again. This time he cut it off and left it off the hook.

The sound of running footsteps came down the hall. There was a knock on the door; Sara Janesky opened it and looked in.

‘We’re busy, Sara,’ Asher snapped. ‘Come back—’

‘Sorry, sir, but you need to take line one. There’s been another body.’

Jake had known it as soon as he’d seen the first victim. Littleton was now one murder away from dealing with a serial killer.