The Christmas Killer

‘It’s not true,’ he told her. ‘I went there to tell her to stay away from us and never to set foot in our pub again. She’s just out to stir things up.’

‘Oh, come off it, Charlie. You’re taking me for a mug. Things haven’t been right with us for some time and it even occurred to me that you might be seeing someone else, but I didn’t want to believe it.’

‘She’s lying, though.’

‘And why would she do that?’

‘Because she came on to me and I rejected her. I told her I’d never be unfaithful again.’

Sonia snapped then and slapped him hard around the face.

‘You bastard. I wish you were bloody dead. You’ve destroyed our marriage and let me down a second time.’

Charlie responded by grabbing her wrists, prompting James to rush into the alley to intervene.

‘That’s enough, you two,’ he shouted. ‘If it gets physical it gets dangerous.’

They both turned to him, their expressions frozen.

As James approached, Charlie let go of his wife’s wrists.

‘This has got nothing to do with you,’ he said. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

‘Just long enough to see that it was getting out of hand,’ James replied. ‘I heard shouting and thought that someone might be in trouble.’

‘He is in trouble,’ Sonia said, poking a finger at her husband. ‘But he doesn’t think he should be. He’s a liar and a cheat and I hate to think what he would have done to me if you hadn’t showed up.’

‘Oh, come off it,’ Charlie said. ‘It was you who slapped me.’

‘And you’re lucky that’s all I did.’

With that, Sonia turned sharply on her heels and stormed back into the pub through the side entrance.

Charlie started shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry you had to see that,’ he said to James. ‘We’re going through a tough time and the missus is finding it hard to control her temper.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with me, Mr Jenkins,’ James said. ‘The only advice I would offer is to argue in the privacy of your own home next time. And to keep your hands off one another.’

Charlie heaved his shoulders. ‘I was having a fag break after an hour slaving away in a hot kitchen. She followed me out and it kicked off. She’s had a few drinks.’

James didn’t want to be drawn into a domestic dispute, so he looked at his watch and told Charlie that he had to return to the restaurant. Charlie then turned and headed back down the alley as James went inside.

He was surprised to see that Sonia was already back behind the bar alongside a young woman named Beth who appeared to be a regular member of the bar staff. Sonia caught his eye and mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ at him, which prompted him to smile at her. Annie noticed the exchange and gave him a questioning look.

‘I heard what I thought might be an assault taking place in the alley,’ he said. ‘But when I went to look, I saw Sonia and Charlie having a row.’

He told Annie what he’d overheard.

‘I’m expecting to see Janet at some point today so I’ll ask her about it,’ Annie said. ‘But I really think that Sonia needs to call time on that relationship if Charlie did cheat on her. I know he’s done it at least once before.’

They finished off the bottle of wine and decided to make a move. James paid the bill and was glad that Beth handled the transaction while Sonia served someone else at the other end of the bar.

Outside, the sky continued to be grey and oppressive, but it wasn’t stopping people from making the most of the market and all it had to offer.

Annie wanted to check out the stalls before heading home, to get some things for dinner. James was happy to join her in the hope that it would make him feel more relaxed.

But just then his phone pinged with an incoming text. It was a message from the former colleague in the Met. The news did nothing to lift his mood.

Made some calls and chatted to the usual suspects. Sullivan hasn’t been seen for days but one usually reliable snout reckons he’s gone away on a Christmas break somewhere in the UK. Nobody seems to know where, though.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The snow-covered market square was teeming with life and the festive spirit was almost palpable. Christmas songs were playing, children were squealing excitedly and the traders were doing brisk business.

James was glad to see that the bustle was providing Annie with a distraction. She was going from stall to stall, sniffing out bargains and loading up a carrier bag with ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

But James wasn’t able to shake off the unease that was building inside him. The text regarding Andrew Sullivan had raised more disturbing questions.

Why hadn’t the guy been seen around for days? It was unusual because he was such a high-profile character at the clubs and boozers in his north London neighbourhood. And if he really was on a Christmas break away from the city, had he by any chance decided to spend it in Cumbria?

James had lied to Annie about the contents of the text so as not to alarm her. Thankfully she had believed him when he’d told her that it was from DCI Tanner requesting an update.

But the text wasn’t the only thing playing on his mind. There were at least two other suspects in the frame now – Keith Patel and Daniel Curtis – even if there was no real evidence linking them to the anonymous threats yet. That they both just happened to have been on the streets near James and Annie’s home around the time the parcel was placed on their doorstep was reason enough for them to be suspects, in James’s opinion.

But who was to say they weren’t back in their homes when the card for Father Silver was left in the church porch? According to him, it could have been put there during the night or early this morning.

Then, of course, there was the big unknown. Was this all just a bizarre hoax or a credible threat? Gut instinct told James it was the former, partly because of the melodramatic nature of the messages in the cards and the dead partridge. And the boss was right to be wary of upgrading it to something more serious at this early stage.

Anonymous threats, especially those delivered by post or by hand, were notoriously difficult to investigate, especially those without an obvious suspect or motive. In this case the perp teasingly referred to Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them. But the message lacked specific information, with no names or references to gender. There was no clue as to the motive, either, other than that the victims were going to get what was coming to them.

‘James, will you snap out of it?’

He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realised Annie was trying to get his attention until he felt her tugging on his sleeve.

‘Sorry, hon, I was miles away,’ he said.

She was standing in front of him holding her phone.

‘Janet Dyer just called me,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s upset and has asked if I can pop over to her place for a chat. I suspect it’s about Charlie going there. Would you mind? I can meet you at home. I won’t be long and I’ve got all I need here.’

He nodded. ‘Actually, that’s fine with me. I feel I should be doing something so it’ll give me a chance to go and have a word with Keith Patel now rather than tomorrow when I was planning to. If he does have anything to do with this then I might be able to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand.’

‘Well, since you’ll be passing our house, you can drop the shopping off on the way,’ she said, handing him the bag.

Father Silver had given James Keith Patel’s address. He found it easily enough and it only took him ten minutes to get there after nipping into his own house and plonking the shopping on the kitchen table.

Patel’s detached cottage was on a cobbled street and backed onto a stream that ran through the southern section of the village. Opposite the property was a spectacular view of the Cumbrian countryside: a wild, dramatic landscape shrouded in a pristine sheet of white.

James had a ready excuse for why he was paying him a visit, and he launched into it as soon the man opened his front door.

‘Hello again, Mr Patel,’ he said. ‘I’ve dropped by to inform you that officers will be looking into the damage done to your mother’s grave. I’ve sent a full report and photographs to headquarters in Kendal, but I’d like to ask you a few quick questions if I may.’

After a couple of beats, Patel said, ‘You’d better come in then. The priest just called to tell me he’s cleaned the headstone. I’ll be popping up there later to see for myself.’

Patel left it to James to close the door and then led the way into a small, untidy living room where two large radiators were belting out oppressive heat. There were no Christmas decorations and a strong smell of tobacco hung heavy in the air.

Patel lowered himself onto one of two threadbare armchairs and gestured for James to sit in the other. James removed his coat before doing so and took out his notebook.

There was more to see of Patel now that he had shed his outdoor gear. He had grey hair and a stocky frame that stretched the black polo sweater he was wearing. He looked pretty healthy despite the arthritis that Father Silver had said affected his knee joints and caused his slight limp.

‘You mentioned earlier that vandals have struck twice before,’ James said. ‘Why do you think they pick on your mother’s grave?’

‘I should have thought that was bloody obvious,’ Patel replied sharply. ‘I’m a figure of hate in this village because I never miss an opportunity to condemn what happened to my mum. The medics told me she might have been alive for several days after she fell down the stairs, but she couldn’t move because she broke so many bones and suffered a serious blow to the head. I dread to think what she went through as she lay there calling for help. But none of the so-called good neighbours bothered to check on her when she didn’t appear. I don’t doubt it was because her skin was a different colour to theirs. Mum was always walking to the shop and tending the back garden. So they must have known that something wasn’t right. And her carer, that moron Janet Dyer, was away that weekend and forgot to arrange for someone else to visit.’

‘It was indeed a tragedy,’ James said. ‘Now, you mentioned earlier that everyone knows who the vandals are.’

‘That’s right. Joseph Paxton and Toby Moore. They’re a couple of teenage hooligans who’ve vandalised the church itself and other landmarks in the village. But nothing ever happens to them because their parents and friends always give them an alibi.’

There was pure venom in his voice, and as he spoke his gaze seemed to go in and out of focus.

‘Tell me this, Mr Patel,’ James said. ‘Have you ever been driven to seek retribution against the people you’re angry with?’

‘What exactly do you mean by that? Are you suggesting I’ve done something wrong? Has someone made an accusation against me? Because if so, it’s a lie!’

‘No, you haven’t been accused of anything, Mr Patel. But, given what’s happened to you, it’s a question that needs to be asked.’

‘Well, the answer is no – I haven’t done anything that would land me in trouble, even though I’ve been tempted to on more than one occasion.’

Patel looked at his watch then and got abruptly to his feet, a clear signal that he was calling a halt to the conversation. ‘Now, I don’t think there’s anything else I can tell you so if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.’

James saw no point in asking more questions since he really didn’t have enough grounds to turn it into a full-blown interrogation just yet. He stood and picked up his coat. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Patel. I’ll make sure that you’re informed of any progress my colleagues make in respect of your mother’s grave.’

‘I’m not going to build up my hopes, Detective. I know that your lot have got bigger crimes to solve, so this won’t be treated as a priority.’

As James turned towards the door, he spotted something that caused his heart to trip. On top of a sideboard there was a pile of those now all-too-familiar Christmas cards. They and their envelopes had been taken out of the packet.

‘It’s funny you should have these,’ James said, picking one up. ‘Yesterday I received the exact same card.’

‘The store has got a lot of them in and they’re cheap,’ Patel said.

‘Have you sent any yet? It’s late in the day if you want to ensure they get there before Christmas.’

‘That’s what I intend to do when you’ve gone. I’ll put them in the post before the end of the day.’

James looked at him. ‘It’s worth saying that the one I got wasn’t from a friend or relative. It contained an anonymous threat and I’m now in the process of finding out who it was from. Because I can assure you that I will.’

‘Well, it wasn’t from me,’ Patel said indignantly. ‘If I want to threaten someone, I’ll do it to their face.’

‘I’m not suggesting it was from you,’ James said. ‘But it’s interesting to note that it was left on my doorstep early yesterday evening, about the time my wife saw you walking past our house …’

‘So what? I have to walk past your place to get here. I do it every fucking day.’

‘I appreciate that, Mr Patel, but it would be remiss of me not to wonder if there’s a connection.’

‘That sounds like another fucking accusation, Detective. Is that the real reason you came here – to see if I had anything to do with it?’

James shook his head. ‘Not at all. I simply—’

Patel didn’t let him finish. ‘Get out of my house now. You’re just like the rest of the bastards in this place. I’m guessing you’ve been put up to it by someone who saw a chance to land me in the shit. Well, I’m not having it. If you want to talk to me again then give me notice and I’ll make sure I have a lawyer present.’

James knew he’d be wasting his time trying to reason with the man, so he put the card back down and walked along the hall to let himself out. The door was slammed shut behind him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

By the time Annie got home it was already dark. She’d spent longer with Janet Dyer than she’d expected to, as her friend had been angry and distraught, and had wanted a shoulder to cry on.

James was waiting for her and had made himself useful by peeling the potatoes for dinner and preparing the chicken so it was ready to roast.

He poured them each a glass of wine and they agreed that he would go first and tell Annie about his visit to Keith Patel’s house.

She narrowed her eyes when he mentioned the Christmas cards on the sideboard.

‘He was adamant that he didn’t deliver one to me,’ he said. ‘And it was impossible to tell if he was lying. He came across as angry rather than panicked.’

James then told Annie what Patel had said about Janet Dyer not arranging for another carer to check on his mother in the days following her fall down the stairs.

This was Annie’s cue to talk about her visit to Janet’s house.

‘She was upset because Charlie Jenkins gave her an earful when he went to see her this morning,’ she said. ‘To get her own back she phoned Sonia and told her she was lying when she denied sleeping with him. She admitted to having an affair with Charlie, and that she’d made the mistake of telling someone. And that someone just happened to be Daniel Curtis’s father, Ron. Mr Curtis was indiscreet and told one of his mates who then told someone else. It eventually got back to Sonia.’

The more James learned about the people of Kirkby Abbey, the more he was beginning to wonder if they had made a huge mistake by moving here.

The following hour or so was spent preparing dinner, drinking wine and trying to relax.

Annie knew that James wasn’t looking forward to playing host to her uncle, but he promised her he’d be on his best behaviour.

When six o’clock came and Bill still hadn’t turned up, she called him on his mobile. It went to voicemail so she left a message. By six-thirty, they were both becoming concerned.

Annie called The King’s Head and asked to be put through to his room. The landlady, Martha Grooms, said he had left the pub earlier after telling her he was spending the evening with an old pal in the nearby village of Ravenstonedale. Annie asked her to check if his car was still parked out back and she was told that it wasn’t.

By seven o’clock they accepted that he wouldn’t be coming and started on the dinner, though with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

‘I’m really worried,’ Annie said. ‘What if something’s happened to him? I just don’t believe he simply forgot about it.’

James shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s getting up to no good somewhere. You said yourself he was acting weird.’

As the evening wore on, Annie became increasingly concerned. She tried and failed to reach her uncle by phone several more times. Just before she and James went to bed at 11 p.m. she put in another call to The King’s Head and spoke to Martha again.

‘He still hasn’t arrived back,’ the woman said. ‘But he has a key so he’ll just let himself in through the accommodation entrance after we close the bar and restaurant.’

Annie eventually went to bed but struggled to sleep. She kept wondering where her Uncle Bill was and also why so many disturbing things were happening all at once in the village.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It’s almost midnight and most of the village is sleeping. But not me. I’m doing what I usually do at this time – walking the dog before sloping off to bed.

I’m a creature of habit, which is one of my many faults. But the truth is I enjoy this time alone with my precious Yorkie, Daisy. She doesn’t judge me, or find fault with everything I do. She’s loyal and loving and she never lets me down. Unlike some of the people in my life.

I take the same route as always, along the narrow pavement to the store that sells hiking and fishing equipment, then left over the little footbridge that crosses the stream.

The snow has been falling all evening and I’m sure the fells will be covered for the festive period. That’s good news for those who won’t need to get around. But in heavy snow the countryside can be treacherous, the roads impassable, and villages and towns are often completely cut off from the outside world.

I can hear the wind whimpering in the trees on the fellside, but there’s not much to see because the landscape has been consumed by the darkness.

I draw on my ciggy and expel a stream of smoke. Then I let Daisy off the lead. She runs around excitedly before crouching down and emptying her bowels.

It’s been a bad day but at last I’m feeling relaxed. Behind me silence has closed over the village like a shroud, and lights twinkle in some of the windows.

Suddenly Daisy starts barking at the ancient beech tree up ahead. The tree marks the point where we always turn around and head back towards home.

Daisy doesn’t usually react like this so I assume she’s spotted a squirrel or a fox. I call her back but she stays where she is, in a state of high excitement.

I drop my cigarette and walk towards her.

‘What’s up, girl?’ I say to her. ‘Has something creeped you out?’

When I get to within a few feet of the tree a figure steps out from behind it. A shiver grabs hold of my spine and I let out a sharp cry of alarm. The figure is ghostly and indistinct, and I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

I start to speak, but my words are cut off as the figure rushes towards me waving what looks like a long-bladed knife.

Before I can react an explosion of pain erupts in my chest and I hear a horrible scream issue from between my lips.

My legs give way and my eyes lose focus. But then I’m stabbed again, this time in the stomach, and I drop onto the snow like a sack of cement.

The last thing I hear before blacking out is a voice that says, ‘This is no more than you deserve.’

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