The Domino Killer Read online

  Twenty-eight

  Joe rushed out of the court building, leaving his client with the Probation Officer. For Joe, the hearing had been about getting it finished. His client had paid Joe to defend an assault allegation, expected some fight, some enthusiasm. Instead, Joe had bullied his client into pleading guilty on a promise that he would avoid prison. It was a promise Joe couldn’t keep, it was out of his control, but it got the case finished early.

  He called the office as he headed towards Deansgate, to see whether Gina had returned. She hadn’t. He tried her phone. It was switched off. He didn’t want that. He needed Gina with him.

  She was right, he shouldn’t have kept the secret, but he had, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

  His focus was on Mark Proctor. He had to find out more. Melissa’s number was in his wallet.

  He stopped as he dug it out. The traffic noise was getting louder so he hung back as he thought about calling her. He closed his eyes for a moment. He felt conflicted. Melissa was Proctor’s sister, bound up in all the hatred he felt for him, but he couldn’t deny that he’d felt something else the night before. And he’d seen something in her eyes that told him she felt the same. He’d fought against it, though, because it was some great irony that he desired the sister of his own sister’s killer, as if the whole situation was meant to taunt him.

  He paused as he looked at her phone number. Then her parting glance came back to him.

  He called the number. She answered straight away.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. Her tone was tentative.

  ‘It’s Joe Parker,’ he said. ‘Can I see you?’ There was a pause, so he filled it with, ‘I can come to the pub.’

  ‘I’m not working today.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Joe said, his cheeks flushing, angry with himself. It had been a bad idea.

  ‘No, don’t be,’ Melissa said quickly. ‘Come to my flat, if you want.’ She gave him her address.

  Joe hung up and stared at his phone. He thought about whether he was doing the right thing, but then he remembered why he was doing it; it was about Ellie, not Melissa.

  The journey didn’t take long. He looked up at her apartment building as he climbed out of the taxi. A converted mill, seven storeys of red brick and bright white windows, solid and imposing, one of a few similar blocks still standing in Ancoats.

  He straightened his jacket before he pressed her numbers on the keypad. There was a short delay before the control panel fizzed and a cautious voice said, ‘Joe?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  ‘Take the lift, fifth floor, and turn left. I’ll wait for you.’

  A buzzer sounded and Joe pushed at the door and went inside.

  The entrance was grand, the inner workings of the mill used to great effect. Iron pillars were painted black and the walls scrubbed of the years of dirt and dust so that the old brickwork shone back bright and clean. Thick oak beams ran across the ceiling, and fastened to one was some old machinery, a black metal wheel hanging down, the look spoiled by the need for health and safety, with black and yellow tape across the edge. The history of the building was evident in every scar of the bricks, every groove in the stone flooring, blunted only by a carpet along the corridors that led away from the entrance.

  He took the lift to the fifth floor. Melissa appeared in a doorway further along. She was smiling as he got closer before she turned to go inside.

  Her apartment was bright and open. Like the entrance, the walls were exposed brick, broken by paintings on white canvas, just plain squares with a splash of colour on each. There was a kitchen area overlooking a sofa and two big chairs that faced each other across a gnarled wooden table, as if an oak tree had been sliced up and Melissa had ended up with the part with a huge knot along one side.

  Joe was drawn to the window. It was almost as high as the room and looked out over the slow movement of the canal. He went to it and looked out.

  Melissa appeared behind him, a bottle of beer held out for him. ‘It’s the view that sold it to me,’ she said. ‘They’ve bulldozed most of the Ancoats I knew, but the water stays the same.’

  ‘I chose my apartment for the same reason,’ he said. ‘Something about the water keeps the city attached to its past.’

  Melissa sat down in one of the chairs, a wine glass in her hand. She caught him looking and said, ‘I don’t make a habit of afternoon drinking, but I’m a bit, you know, nervous.’ She drew her knees onto the cushion and her legs underneath her. She was in tight jeans and a T-shirt, clothes for a day off, but Joe felt it again, an unexpected longing.

  He looked away, tried to shut it out.

  ‘So is it more about Mark?’ she said, her hand twirling a stray strand of hair that was hanging down.

  ‘I need to know more about his past.’

  ‘Will he know you’re here?’ she said. ‘You can’t keep secrets from your client.’

  ‘No, he won’t.’

  ‘I don’t want him to know where I live.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we don’t speak and he doesn’t deserve to see his niece.’

  Joe couldn’t think of anything to say. There were so many thoughts rushing through his head that they all seemed to get jammed together, not one of them formed enough to make it out.

  ‘He killed your cat,’ he said eventually. ‘Did he do anything else like that?’

  Melissa frowned. ‘What kind of defence lawyer are you?’

  ‘I told you, this is personal.’

  ‘But you make it sound like you think he’s a psychopath in waiting, that he murdered small animals before moving onto people.’

  Joe didn’t respond.

  Melissa put her glass down. ‘What’s going on, Joe?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. Not yet.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When I know for certain.’

  Melissa shook her head. ‘You talk in riddles, Joe Parker.’

  ‘I want to speak to your parents?’

  ‘Not a chance!’

  ‘I need to know about your brother, that’s all. His history. There’ll be things about him they’ll know that you don’t.’

  Melissa shook her head. ‘Not my parents.’

  ‘So you won’t help me?’

  ‘You haven’t given me a reason to yet. There’s so much you’re not telling me.’

  Joe wanted to tell her, because if he did, she’d understand. She’d tell him about all those moments that they’d always thought strange, because knowing that Mark was a murderer would put it all into context. It would give him the nod that he was right, might even lead him to other people who knew him. To catch Mark Proctor, he had to unravel him and find the beast within.

  But he couldn’t tell Melissa. Not yet. Family loyalty might still run too deep.

  ‘What do you want from me, Joe?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘So damn complicated.’

  ‘I thought you were here because you felt something, about us. About me. Did you feel something?’

  He swallowed, his cheeks flushed. ‘I’m here about your brother.’

  ‘So how can it be complicated?’

  He put his head back and stared at the ceiling, oak beams running across the room. He’d headed straight for Melissa and got nowhere. Was there another reason he was there?

  There was the sound of movement across from him. Melissa’s feet made soft noises on the floor but Joe didn’t look up.

  He closed his eyes when her hand touched his leg. It was as if she was kneeling in front of him and her hand was just rested on his thigh, but she started to caress his leg with gentle strokes, caring more than sensual, until her hand went higher, towards his hips, her body rising. Her knee parted his and he became aware of her perfume, lightly floral, and the soft gasps of her breaths.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said, his voice low.

  ‘Taking charge,’ she said.

  Her first kiss was gentle, almost a brush, until he rea
ched for her, the need for her taking him by surprise, his hand going to her hair, pulling her into him, so that her body pressed against his, the sound of their clothes sliding against each other in static crackles. In that moment, he lost sense of everything. Where he was, what he’d been thinking of, Proctor and Gina, what he planned to do. Right then, he was consumed by the quickening of her breath, the beat of his heart, his fingers gripping her hair.

  Melissa pulled away. Joe was breathless, his vision blurred.

  She stood in front of him. She flicked the button on her jeans and slid them over her hips, kicking them off until she was only in her knickers and T-shirt.

  ‘They’re so restrictive,’ she said, and smiled, but it was her eyes he noticed. Her gaze was smouldering, direct.

  She straddled him in his chair. She pushed against him, the thin silkiness of her panties almost a non-existent barrier.

  The image of Mark Proctor flashed into his brain, that final look before he followed Ellie into the woods.

  Joe pushed Melissa off and slid out from under her. He stood up and went to the window, his hand in his hair. ‘This isn’t right,’ he said, breathless. ‘Not right at all.’

  Melissa looked up at him, hurt, embarrassed. She gathered her clothes in her arms and ran to her bedroom.

  ‘Get out!’ she shouted, before slamming the door.

  Joe didn’t go. Instead, he punched the wall in frustration, grazing his knuckles. He’d messed up his best link to Proctor. ‘Fuck!’

  Twenty-nine

  The Incident Room was quiet as Sam sat at his desk. He twirled his seat around and tapped his pen on the desk. Charlotte had gone out for some lunch but Sam had turned down the opportunity to go with her. He wanted to find some solitude so he could make a call. He was still reeling from Joe’s news earlier and wanted to find out more. The only people who could help were those on the Cold Case Unit, but he didn’t want to be overheard nor use his mobile; whoever he called to resurrect Ellie’s case, he wanted them to see that it came from an internal number.

  He went back to his computer and scrolled through the phone directory to find the right number to call. He made a note and was about to reach for his phone when Brabham came into the room. He walked straight over to Sam.

  ‘How are you getting on?’

  Sam filled him in on Henry Mason’s use of the No One Tells site. Brabham curled his lip.

  ‘Is Keith Welsby connected to it?’ Brabham said.

  ‘Not that I can find out,’ Sam said.

  ‘So why is it relevant? The two murders are connected. Dominoes. If you go down that line alone, you won’t discover the link.’

  Sam wanted to say that two murders hardly made for a domino effect but he knew that it wouldn’t sway Brabham. He’d spotted a headline and gone for it. Instead, Sam said, ‘But it’s the secret life Mason had in the final month of his life. Don’t we need a full picture of Henry Mason?’

  ‘No, we need relevant evidence to find out who killed him, not to destroy his character. Do you think his widow will thank you for laying bare his secrets?’

  ‘We don’t know it’s irrelevant yet, though.’

  ‘But it’s not connected to Welsby,’ Brabham said. ‘That’s what we need to find.’

  ‘So what do I do about it?’

  ‘Keep tracing Mason’s friends and associates. We need that link, because I can assure you of one thing, Parker, that if this is a domino effect, we all know what happens next.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Another one falls.’

  Brabham walked away, seemingly happy with his wisdom. Promotion didn’t always favour the wise, Sam thought.

  His phone buzzed: Alice. I’ve got lunch. On the OTH if you want some daylight.

  OTH. Old Town Hall, a small concrete amphitheatre created by its demolition, where curved steps stared through the portico that remained. It was one of the reasons why he didn’t want to be based in a new glass and brick block on some business park. The area was still old Manchester, although without the smoke and grime of a hundred years earlier. It was where he escaped to on sunny days, eating his lunch as he watched the sun glint off the canal surface nearby, listening out for the general putter of the barges. Tall chimneys and the occasional large old mill building were visible through the gaps in the trees, redbrick monstrosities that built the city.

  He grabbed his jacket and headed outside.

  Alice was sitting on one of the concrete steps, watching Emily and Amy run and skip. He was pleased to see them. He needed to talk to Alice; he always felt that way whenever he had a problem to share, because she seemed to know the right thing to do. She’d always been good like that, a soft and gentle hand when he needed it, or a firm push whenever that was more appropriate. It was how she’d been when Ellie died that had made him realise how they were going to stay together: understanding, patient and comforting.

  As he stepped into the open concrete space, there were shrieks of laughter and then the sound of running feet. Emily and Amy wrapped themselves around his legs and he felt some of his shadows lift. He ruffled their hair and somehow made his way to Alice without them letting him go. She looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. She was in a white shirt and jeans, a polka-dot silk scarf knotted around her neck. She looked elegant and stylish, and not for the first time Sam realised how lucky he was.

  Alice smiled as Sam bent down to kiss her. ‘I hope your colleagues are watching.’

  ‘So do I,’ he said, which widened her smile. ‘I’m glad you stopped by.’

  He sat next to her and the girls went back to chasing each other in the circle between them and the old stone façade. She reached behind her and produced a sandwich and a coffee in a paper cup. He took a bite, and said, ‘It’s been a strange old morning.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It’s about Joe.’

  ‘It often is,’ she said.

  ‘This is different,’ Sam said, and went to tell her about his meeting with Joe earlier.

  When he’d finished, Alice put her hand to her mouth. ‘So Joe is certain about this man?’

  ‘It seems that way.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Confused. What if he’s wrong?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if he’s wrong or right,’ Alice said. ‘You’ve got to look into it.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. Joe has always said that if he ever found this man, he’d kill him.’

  ‘He won’t though, will he? Not Joe. He’s not the violent type. Or is he? Perhaps I don’t know him as well as I think I do.’

  ‘He told me that he just wants to build a case against this Proctor so that he can’t get away with it. I’m worried that he’s just having doubts so he wants me to make sure he’s right before he carries out his threat. That would make me look like a conspirator, because they’ll find my traces on the police computer.’ He sighed. ‘What do I do?’

  Alice reached for his hand. ‘Imagine you’re not involved with the case. What would you say to someone with the same predicament?’

  ‘I’d tell them to go to the police, that to handle it properly is the only way to do it.’

  ‘So you know the answer,’ she said. ‘You just wanted me to help you say it.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s not your job to keep your brother out of trouble. It’s up to him what he does, but if you really want to help Joe, let him know you’ve told whoever has the case; it might just be enough to stop him doing anything rash. He’ll be upset and angry with you, but one day he’ll wake up in his own apartment, with a lazy day ahead to do whatever he liked rather than going down to breakfast with the rest of the prisoners, and he’ll be glad for it.’

  He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You’re a wise one, thank you,’ he said. He took a last bite of his sandwich and checked his watch. ‘I’m going to have to go back in. It’s good to see you, though. We should make the effort more often.’

  As he headed back to work, pausing first to cud
dle his daughters, the police station seemed a much darker place.

  He snatched up the receiver and dialled the number he’d found before, scribbled onto a yellow Post-it note.

  It rang out just twice. ‘Cold Case Review Team,’ a voice said, clipped and formal.