Fury: (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 11) (The Kate Redman Mysteries) Read online

  “All I’ve got is in there,” said Kate, waving at the folder in Chloe’s hands. “I need to liaise with the Whitehaven station to get the nitty-gritty.”

  By now, Theo had entered the office. “What’s up, guys?”

  They filled him in. Theo raised his dark eyebrows. “Okay. Okay. Nice work. Anyone told Nicola yet?”

  “I’ll do that,” Kate said, smartly. “In fact, I’ll go and do it now.” She tipped him a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her it was your idea.”

  DCI Weaver preferred people to make official appointments to see her through her PA, but Kate thought that a breakthrough of this magnitude surely warranted an impromptu visit. She knocked at her door, clutching the file on William Bathford, praying, surely for the first time in her life, that Nicola was in.

  Since the party, Kate had been conscious of a slight thawing of DCI Weaver’s usual attitude towards her. Whether that was because Kate had herself begun to behave in a more friendly, mature manner towards her boss was something Kate, rather uncomfortably, had considered. Or perhaps Nicola was just tiring of being such a constant bitch. Whichever the reason, Kate was thankful.

  She told DCI Weaver what she had discovered and was rewarded by the sight of a genuine smile spreading across Nicola’s face.

  “That’s fantastic. Well done, Kate.”

  Ooh, I got a ‘Kate’. Not a ‘DS, I mean DI Redman’. Things are looking up. Kate said nothing but smiled back in return.

  “This is very promising. Same MO. Same figure at the crime scene.” DCI Weaver bit her lip as she read through the file. “God, we could be looking at a serial killer, here.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Kate.

  “Stop whatever it is you were doing on the Callihan case and throw yourself at this one. I’m sending you up to Whitehaven so you can interview the people who worked on this case.”

  Kate clenched her fist in triumph under the cover of the table. Since DCI Weaver had taken over, Kate had been the only one kept office-bound in far-flung investigations. God bless that Halloween party—or whatever it is that’s making her nicer to me. “Fantastic,” she said, out loud. “I’ll go up tomorrow.”

  The rest of the morning passed in a blur of organisation: care for Merlin, booking a budget hotel up in Whitehaven, arranging the handover of Kate’s current cases to the others in the team. It was sometimes possible for two officers to travel up together to interview witnesses but not this time. “You’re on your own,” DCI Weaver had stated. “We’re too busy to spare more than one of you at the moment.” Kate didn’t mind. What with working all day surrounded by other people and now, with Anderton, not getting much space at home, she was almost relishing the thought of some time to herself.

  As she had that thought, she remembered the words she and Anderton had exchanged the night before. She felt the smile fall from her face. She hadn’t heard from him since; not that she’d contacted him, either, but that was more to do with how busy she’d been rather than making a point. Should she send him a text, tell him that she was going to be away for a few days? Her fingers hovered over the screen of her phone. Then she shook her head and put the mobile away. Not that she wanted to be petty, but…

  She got home later than normal that night, having spent the afternoon setting up various interviews with the officers and the witnesses of the Bathford case. Merlin twined around her ankles as she shut the front door behind her and locked it securely. Kate slung the chicken risotto that she’d picked up in the supermarket in the microwave and flicked on the switch of the kettle. She’d once almost lived on ready meals and pre-prepared salads but, since she’d been seeing Anderton, she’d been fed with a lovingly home-cooked meal several times a week. Kate regarded the spinning package as it rotated in the microwave, feeling depressed. Really, they’d only had a row. Not the first, either. He’ll be back, she told herself. And if he isn’t…

  Frowning, she opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. Was this really a relationship that was ever going to work? The age difference, the fact he’d been married before, her relationship with his children (which was cordial but distant). Did she want children? That was normally a thought she shied away from, packed away down deep, but now she tried to face it, taking a gulp of wine.

  When Kate was seventeen, she’d had a baby. The baby had been adopted, and it was only through a lot of time, therapy and introspection that Kate could reconcile herself with her decision. She was more at peace with what she had done now than she ever had been before, but she was horribly afraid that if she had another child, all those painful memories would come flooding back. Could she go through that again? It had taken so much effort to move past the pain. Kate found herself shutting her eyes, warding off the thought.

  That was even supposing Anderton—if he hadn’t dumped her already—wanted more children. A man in his fifties, with grown-up children, would probably not want to go back to the newborn baby stage; late nights, nappies, bottles. It was something they had never talked about. Kate sat down on her sofa, feeling thoroughly miserable. After a moment, she reached for her mobile and tapped out a message to Anderton. I’m off up North to Whitehaven tomorrow so driving most of the day. Talk to you in the evening if you’re free. X.

  It felt rather more stiff and formal than she would have liked. To hell with it. Kate picked at her microwave meal, finished off the wine and headed up to bed. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kate hit the road bright and early the next morning, cheered by a reasonable night’s sleep and the prospect of a sunny day. The prevailing day’s brisk wind had mostly stripped the trees of their leaves and their branches were outlined sharply against a blue sky. Kate fortified herself for the journey with various CDs, snacks and a flask of coffee. Then she gave Merlin a goodbye stroke, told him Janet would be in to feed him later, and let herself out of the house.

  She was so early that there was little traffic on the roads, and she was able to get out of Abbeyford reasonably quickly. She’d considered taking the train—Kate’s favourite method of transport—but knew that if she had lots of people to interview, having a car would be a distinct advantage. As she joined the M4, she heard the ping of a text message coming through on her phone and it took every ounce of will power she possessed not to pull over on the hard shoulder and see if it was from Anderton.

  She stopped for fuel after half an hour and grabbed her mobile. Anderton had written that he’d talk to her later. So, at least he was still talking to her. Smiling, Kate paid for her petrol and set off again, feeling better.

  She got to Whitehaven just as dusk was falling. The beauty of the Lake District would have to wait for the morning. Kate found her hotel without any drama and checked in. She was hungry and decided to have a decent dinner before beginning her interview preparations for tomorrow.

  Chloe rang just as she was lifting the final forkful of steak to her mouth.

  “Hey, bird, how’s it going up there?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone yet. It took me almost all day to drive up here.”

  “That’s what I thought. Hey, I can’t talk for long.”

  “Got a hot date with Roman?” Kate teased, intending it as a joke, but Chloe replied in the affirmative, rather smugly. “Oh. Great. Well, have fun.”

  “Who are you seeing tomorrow?”

  “DI Randall. He was the investigating officer on the Bathford case. Hopefully he’ll be able to give me the run down and I can start to see if anything gels with our cases.”

  “Mm.” Chloe sounded distracted and Kate could hear rustling noises in the background.

  “Look, I’ll call you tomorrow. Enjoy your date.”

  They said goodbye and Kate, yawning, ordered another glass of red wine. She knew she should be going through the few case notes she had before her meeting tomorrow, but the thought was not tempting. She checked her phone again to see if she’d missed a call from Anderton. Should she call him? Ka
te was not fond of public telephone conversations. Wearily, she opened her briefcase and extracted the notes she’d already made.

  Two years ago, William Bathford’s body had been discovered at his home by his son. He had lived alone since his divorce, five years previously, and had retired from his job the year before his death. Kate rapidly read over her notes. Just as in the Barry case, there was no sign of forced entry, no sign of a struggle. The body had suffered multiple stab wounds. Kate looked once more at the crime scene photograph of the living room and that mysterious statue, wings spread, the blank oval of the woman’s face looking out over the carnage. Erinyes. The Furies. Kate bit her lip, regarding the photograph and thinking. Then she read through the Wikipedia page on the subject, which she’d printed out before her journey. It was the second or third time she’d read it. “Deities of vengeance,” she murmured under her breath. That was the phrase that kept leaping out at her. Vengeance. But for what? And was she right?

  She recalled DCI Weaver’s words to her the day before, her mention of a possible serial killer being on the loose. Kate remembered the case she’d worked a few years ago now, where the bodies of young men began to appear in graveyards, white and still. Serial killings were still rare in the United Kingdom. Was it likely that this could be another? Kate couldn’t quite recall the standard definition, but three killings in under three years surely would qualify? If it was the same killer. “If, if, if,” she said to herself quietly. Then she drained her glass of the final mouthful of wine, packed her papers away, and went back to her room.

  Anderton rang just as she was getting into her pyjamas. Kate answered the call with a twinge of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. “Hello.”

  “How was the drive up?” Anderton sounded normal. Kate felt herself relax.

  “Long and tiring.”

  “I’ll bet. What are you doing now?”

  Kate yawned. “Sorry. I should be reading over my notes but they’re blurring in front of my eyes, quite frankly.”

  “Hm. I remember those days.“ Anderton hesitated and then went on, a shade more diffidently. “Listen, Kate, I’m sorry for the other day. You took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “So did you.” Kate struggled to get the covers of the bed untucked from beneath the mattress. “God, why do they always make these beds so tightly?” Eventually, she freed the sheets enough to enable her to slip beneath them. “Anyway, do you want to talk about it now?”

  “Not really. But I think we need to have a discussion on a few things when you get back, don’t you?”

  Kate felt that twinge of anxiety again. “Yes. I suppose so.” She yawned again, unable to help it.

  “Look, get some sleep. Are you coming back tomorrow?”

  “The day after.”

  “Then that’s when I’ll see you.”

  “Night, then.”

  She listened to the two-tone beep that terminated the call and then rolled over and put her mobile on the bedside table. She lay back amongst the many pillows, slightly comforted by the fact that she and Anderton seemed to have smoothed things out, if only a little. Kate closed her eyes. Say what you like about budget hotels, but by God, their beds are comfortable. She was asleep in moments.

  DI Randall turned out to be a cheerful looking man with a head of hair that shaded from bright ginger to a sandy gold and rather attractive blue eyes. He greeted Kate affably and led her through to an interview room at the Whitehaven police station.

  “You’ve no doubt done some background research on the case,” he told Kate as they sat down at the interview table. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to flesh it out a bit more. Tell me again what the connection is?”

  Kate produced her evidence; notes and photographs of the identical statue found. DI Randall took the photograph of the Barry murder scene, where Kate had ringed the location of the statue in red pen. “Uncanny,” he said, glancing at her with those blue eyes. “It’s identical, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed. So, you can see why we’re interested in spotting any other connections between the cases. It’s not just the murder of Roland Barry, either. We very recently had a second murder in Abbeyford, that of a young—fairly young—woman called Amanda Callihan.” Kate handed him her notes on the Callihan case and let him read them. Once he’d looked over them, he nodded for her to continue and she did so. “There’s another link we’ve established between your case and Amanda’s. She used to work here, as a social worker.”

  DI Randall nodded again. “Social worker? Well, William Bathford ran a children’s care home. Perhaps Amanda—what was her last name again?”

  “Callihan.”

  “Right. Perhaps Amanda Callihan had contact with him or with the home in a professional capacity.”

  Kate leant forward. “Yes, that’s something I’ll be looking into with the council while I’m up here. It was a few years ago but they might be able to help.”

  “Yes.” DI Randall regarded the photographs again and perused Kate’s notes once more. “It’s weird though…”

  “What is?”

  He put his finger on the circled statues in each crime scene picture one after another. “This. This…calling card, I suppose you’d could call it. Have you tracked down the manufacturer yet?”

  Kate shook her head. “We’re working on the possibility that they might be handmade or produced overseas.”

  “Okay.” Another flash of blue as he met her eyes. “Has anyone broached the possibility that you’re looking at a serial killer yet?”

  It was Kate’s turn to use her eyes; she cast them up. “Of course that’s been flagged.”

  “That’s what’s weird. Have you ever worked a serial case before?”

  Kate felt an impulse in her arm to reach around to the small of her back, to press against the small raised semi-circle of scar tissue left there by a killer’s knife. She repressed it. “Yes. Two of them.”

  DI Randall raised his eyebrows, making an impressed face. “Right. So, you know how unusual it is for them to kill across gender, sex, whatever you want to call it.”

  Kate knew. “It must happen, though. But I agree, it’s incredibly rare. Like killing across ethnicities.”

  “Yeah, exactly. And these MOs… The woman, Amanda—that’s just totally different. What was it, a blow to the head?” He consulted Kate’s notes again. “Oh, right. Strangulation but before that, she was laid out by a blow to the head. And then you’ve got the men, Bathford and Barry. Viciously stabbed to death. That’s a hell of a change. I mean, I could understand it better if Amanda had been the first victim. You get the serials who start escalating; time between killings, killings get more vicious, sadistic because they’re chasing the high—” He caught Kate’s expression and cleared his throat. “Anyway, you know what I mean. But to have two really violent stabbings and then a strangulation…Well, as you know, DI Redman, that is odd…”

  They looked at each other in silence. Eventually Kate nodded. “I know. It’s been bothering me too.”

  DI Randall looked down again at the notes. “Could it be that the statue is actually a coincidence?” He murmured the question, almost to himself. “That Amanda’s death isn’t actually connected?”

  “I know,” repeated Kate. “But what a coincidence. The exact same statue at all three scenes, none of which the victims appear to have bought for themselves.”

  “Hmm.” DI Randall put down the paper and blew out his cheeks. “Got any forensic links between the cases?”

  “We’re working on it. You know how it is, there’s always a constant backlog for them to process.”

  “I know it. Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll pull everything we’ve got on the Bathford case for you and you can wade through it to your heart’s content. Have you got anything else planned?”

  “The trip to the council, to talk to Amanda Callihan’s previous employers,” Kate reminded him.

  “Oh, right. Do you know how to get to the council offices?”

  “I’ve go
t sat nav.” Kate smiled at him, prompting a smile back.

  “Right. Have you been to Whitehaven before?”

  “No. I’ve never been this far north. I’m hoping to see a bit of the Lakes when I head home.”

  “Yes, don’t miss that.” DI Randall hesitated for a second and then said, rather diffidently, “I don’t know if you’ve got dinner plans or anything for tonight but if not, I could show you a nice restaurant. If you want to, that is.”

  Kate was silent for a moment. Was he asking her out of friendliness or, well, something more? Anderton’s face popped into her mind. “Um…I’m not sure yet,” was what she came out with, smiling to take any sting away. “Let me see how I get on with the paperwork today and I’ll let you know, if that’s okay?”

  “Oh, sure, sure, sure, no problem.” DI Randall was laughing, slightly too uneasily. “No problem, DI Redman. It was just an idea.”

  “Please, call me Kate,” Kate said, taking pity on him.

  “Right. Kate. Well, I’ll let you get on.”

  The door shut behind him, and Kate permitted herself a quiet giggle. For some reason, she found herself thinking of Chloe. How did people date these days? She thought of Anderton again, but this time with a rush of love. She pulled out her mobile and texted him on impulse. Missing you xxx. Then she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and set to work.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Late that same afternoon, Kate went looking for DI Randall, cardboard folder in her hand. She found his office and knocked on the door.

  “Any luck?” he asked her. He looked relaxed again and Kate realised that she did actually find him quite attractive. Hmm, perhaps dinner isn’t such a good idea, Kate.

  “I did, actually. It may be nothing, but – well, I just wondered if I could run it past you?”