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‘I don’t know, Adele. I’ve been thinking about that myself all day. Maybe he had atoned for his crimes. Maybe he was moving on from his past and trying to rebuild his life.’
‘I understand prison is all about rehabilitation and once they’re released they should be able to return to normal society, but … I don’t know.’
‘Go on,’ Matilda urged.
‘Say, for example, we went on a second date, and a third, and we started to get close. Would he have eventually sat down and told me what he’d done? If so, how would I have reacted? I like to think I’m a forward-thinking person who could have seen past his crimes to the man he now was, but, what if I wasn’t? What if I was a bigot who thought he should have rotted in jail? This has really made me question what kind of a person I am.’
‘You know what kind of a person you are. You’re kind, gentle, intelligent, honest. You would have approached what he told you with an open mind.’
Adele shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘OK,’ Matilda said, sitting up to be more comfortable. ‘Pass me the Ferrero Rocher. Now, based on your first date, you said he came across like the perfect gentleman. Keeping that in mind, what if he had visited you this morning and said “Adele, you’re a great woman, I had a lovely time, but you should know I served eight years in prison for sex-related crimes”. What would you have done?’
Adele thought for a while. She had another sip of her wine, then finished the whole glass. ‘Honestly? I would have admired him for telling me the truth. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have felt safe being alone with him. I wouldn’t have wanted him touching me. If he’s raped someone, how do I know he’s not going to rape me?’
‘That’s a very honest answer.’
‘But does that make me a bad person?’
‘No. It makes you human.’
‘We’re taught from an early age to forgive and move on. But there’s no way I could have made any kind of life with Brian, knowing he was a sex offender.’
‘There are some crimes that are unforgiveable, Adele. Even when they’ve served their time, criminals can’t expect to fully return to a normal life. There is no excuse for what Brian did. He may have been trying to put his past behind him, but that’s not always possible. Don’t beat yourself up for having a normal, human reaction.’
‘He was charming, but he was scum,’ Adele said.
‘Was that on his dating profile? If so, you’ve only got yourself to blame.’
For the first time that evening, Adele threw her head back and let out a loud laugh.
‘Captain America: Civil War?’
‘Definitely. Hawkeye’s in this one.’
Danny Hanson, only crime reporter on The Star, lived in a shared terraced house just off Ecclesall Road overlooking Endcliffe Park. He hated his attic room. It was cold in winter and boiling in the summer. All his possessions were in cardboard boxes and he couldn’t move without having to stride over them. His housemates were two trainee nurses he hardly ever saw and a student from China who had very limited English. Unfortunately, this was all Danny could afford, and on his meagre wages, it was all he was likely to be able to afford for years to come.
Sitting on his single bed with his laptop open, he was on a forum page about Sheffield life. He was hoping for some gossip about the dead body found at Linden Avenue this morning, but so far, there was nothing.
His mobile started ringing. He looked at the screen, but the caller’s ID had been withheld. He was tempted to ignore it, believing it to be another sales call about his broadband provider.
‘Hello,’ he answered, sounding bored.
‘Danny Hanson?’
‘Speaking.’
‘I hope you’ve got a pad and pen to hand.’
‘Who is this?’ Danny’s ears had been pricked.
‘The bloke found dead on Linden Avenue this morning was Brian Appleby. He’d been executed by hanging. He was a paedophile from Essex.’ The caller hung up.
A smile spread across Danny’s face. He looked at his phone. The screen was blank. Had he just dreamed that phone call? He logged on to Google, typed in ‘Brian Appleby’ and saw stories about a man who had been sentenced for sex offences against underage girls. He opened a blank Word document and began typing, his fingers hammering hard on the keyboard. Once he’d written the basic story, he’d give someone in the police a call, see if they could confirm it. If not, he’d pass it on to his editor. She’d know whether to risk publishing it or not. He could almost smell the print on his first front-page splash.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_a2536017-e31c-5668-b167-2c6ecdb5cd3e)
Danny Hanson left work early Saturday afternoon. He’d been busy since first light trying to get confirmation for his story. He’d spoken to a few detectives in CID who had refused to comment, giving him the stock reply that a statement would be released in time. However, Danny wasn’t satisfied with that. In the end, he decided to use underhand tactics to get through to someone lowly.
‘Hello, my name’s Gerald Wiley. I was mugged last week. I spoke to a lovely girl in uniform who said she’d help find whoever it was stole my watch. I didn’t get the lass’s name. Do you think I could speak to someone, please?’ Danny asked into the phone, putting on his best old-man voice.
He was transferred from the switchboard and a young-sounding PC answered who was more than happy to talk to Danny. He quickly launched into his spiel about how he knew who the dead man in Linden Avenue was and just wanted his research efforts confirming. The PC refused to give his name, but his comments would definitely be enough to use in the paper. It helped that Danny had his iPhone held up to the receiver, recording the conversation.
At just after two o’clock in the afternoon, Danny left work. As he made his way for home, he saw a board outside a newsagent’s advertising the local paper. There it was, his first ever front-page story.
PAEDOPHILE EXECUTED
It was a simple headline, but it packed a punch. He didn’t even attempt to hide his grin upon seeing his byline. He’d post a copy of the paper off to his mum. She’d be very proud.
Matilda and Adele lost the majority of the weekend to a hangover and feeling sick after the amount of sugar they had consumed. It was what they both needed: a chance for them to discuss their futures as two independent, single forty-somethings and for Adele to try and put the whole Brian Appleby incident behind her. Famous last words.
Matilda had called DI Christian Brady and put him in charge of the investigation for the weekend. Fortunately, budget cuts came in handy on occasion and this was the perfect time to blag a couple of days of light duties. Christian kept calling, filling her in on the interviews with neighbours, but nothing dramatic required her attention. She went home on Sunday morning feeling better about herself. She hoped Adele did too.
Matilda woke up early on Monday morning, an hour before her alarm was due to sound. She headed straight for the treadmill in the conservatory and ran 10K in just under one hour. She smiled at the time on the display, happy with how far she had come in the short space of a couple of months. Strangely, she was looking forward to the half-marathon, though she didn’t dare say anything as crazy out loud.
She breakfasted on granary toast and a black coffee before showering. This morning, she decided to put on a bit of make-up. While Matilda sat in her dressing gown and applied a touch of eyeliner, she tried to remember the last time she had done this – probably James’s funeral. That was almost two years ago. When she was finished, she liked what she saw in the mirror. She had definable cheek bones, her face looked smoother and younger. She should do this more often.
With a spring in her step, Matilda went into the living room, picked up her framed wedding photograph and gave James Darke a big kiss, leaving a lipstick mark behind which she refused to wipe off.
‘I love you, James,’ she said with confidence. There was no cracking in her voice, no tearful emotion at losing him so early into their marriage, just a determined statement of love from wife to husband.
‘Is everything all right, ma’am?’ DC Scott Andrews said, entering Matilda’s office.
‘Yes, fine. Why?’
‘You look different. Brighter,’ he mused.
‘I had a good night’s sleep. How’s Alec Routledge?’ she asked, wanting to get off the subject of her appearance.
‘He’s still unconscious, but Forensics have found plenty of evidence in his house. DI Brady said neighbours have identified a couple of people who were seen running away from his home. I think he’s hopeful on making an arrest within the next few hours.’
‘Good. I don’t think there’s a connection with Brian Appleby, but we’ll keep an open mind until it’s confirmed. Any news on who spoke to the press over the weekend?’
‘No. Nothing yet.’
‘I thought not. Any more contact from Danny Hanson?’
‘He’s called the switchboard a few times. And, yesterday, he accosted me in Graves Park while I was on a run.’
‘I hope you didn’t tell him anything.’
‘Of course not.’
‘He’s certainly determined. I’ll give him that.’
Scott went to leave the room, but hovered in the doorway.
‘Do you want to tell me something, Scott?’ she asked.
‘I do, yes.’
‘Go on then.’
‘Can I sit down?’
‘Of course.’
‘Brian Appleby kept a diary and he put all his appointments in it like trips to the dentist and doctors, etc. On Thursday, 15th September last year, there’s a note for him to come to South Yorkshire Police and register himself as living in Sheffield.’
‘Oh,’ Matilda said, her interest suddenly piqued.
‘Aaron said yesterday that Brian was a meticulous man. It appears he really was and had intended to come to the station to report his move.’
‘And did he?’
‘Well we don’t have him listed on our register of known sex offenders. Yet there’s nothing in his diary to say it didn’t happen, or he couldn’t make it, or he’d come on a different day.’
‘Strange.’
‘Very.’
‘OK. Leave it with me, Scott. I’ll have a think. Good work.’
‘Thank you.’
Matilda’s phone started to ring. She waited until Scott closed the door to her office before answering. ‘DCI Darke.’
‘My office, Matilda.’ The line went dead. Only ACC Masterson had that kind of control.
‘I’d offer you a coffee, but my machine started smoking this morning,’ Valerie said, giving a dirty look to the small coffee maker on top of a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘I’m guessing you’ve seen Saturday’s edition of The Star.’
Matilda hadn’t, but she’d read the headlines on her phone. When she saw the physical newspaper in Valerie’s hands her heart sank. She hadn’t had a good relationship with the local newspaper over the past couple of years. At every turn, they seemed to delight in pointing out her errors and questioning her ability to be leading South Yorkshire’s CID.
Valerie slapped the newspaper down in front of Matilda. She leaned forward, refusing to pick it up, as if it was covered with some kind of flesh-eating bacteria. The bottom of the front page said the story was continued on page five. Matilda couldn’t resist. She opened the paper and continued reading.
‘Who the hell leaked all this?’ Valerie fumed. ‘Murder hasn’t been confirmed yet, and how did they know he was a paedophile? And where did this execution part come from?’
‘I have no idea,’ Matilda said, reading the rest of the story. ‘Is this true?’
‘What?’
‘This other story at the bottom. Are we getting a Major Crimes Unit?’
‘It’s being mooted.’
‘Why? It’s not been a year since the Murder Room was abolished.’
‘We have twenty-six unsolved murders on our books at present. We need a team whose sole purpose is major crimes and cold cases. Look, we’re deviating from the point. Who leaked this?’
‘I don’t know. I will find out though, trust me.’
‘When you do, I want them handed over to me,’ she said. Her wrinkled face was red with fury. ‘I will not have any officers on my force spilling information to the press for the price of a few pints.’
As Matilda left the room she started thinking of the new faces she’d seen around the station lately. When the Murder Investigation Team was up and running, she had her own small team of faithful, dedicated officers – Sian, Aaron, Rory and Scott. When it closed and they merged with CID, she had welcomed Faith and Christian into her fold. Now there was Kesinka Rani and Ranjeet Deshwal, who she didn’t know at all. And every time she saw a uniformed officer it seemed to be a different face. Then there were a whole new bunch in the forensic team at Brian Appleby’s house. It was a fact of life that things changed, people moved on, and new ones arrived. Matilda wasn’t well known for allowing many people into her confidence. For the sake of her own sanity, she would need to adapt, trust, and bond. The very thought filled her with dread.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_aa4cd62b-03fc-5d6b-ad9e-bac2fbd3e45e)
Doctor Simon Browes was a man who always had a smile on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Even during the more disturbing aspects of his job. For a forensic pathologist, he was jovial, sprightly, and full of life. At thirty-five, he was younger than Adele Kean, and he oozed confidence. There wasn’t anything special in his appearance. He didn’t have film-star good looks, a chiselled jawline or a rippling torso, but his charm made him very attractive to the opposite sex.
Usually working in Nottingham, Simon had received the call to fill in for Adele and arrived in the steel city in record time. He was dedicated to his job and would drop anything if necessary, much to the consternation of his wife and three children.
Lucy Dauman greeted him in the pathology suite and showed him into Adele’s impossibly tiny and cluttered office. Lucy had cleared some space on the desk for him to use to write up his reports and had found him a clean mug with no chips or cracks.
‘So, Victoria has headed for pastures new?’ he asked, taking off his duffel coat and looking around for a hook. He draped it over the back of his chair.
‘Yes. Stockport. I think she has family there.’
‘And what about you?’
‘What about me?’ Lucy asked with a frown.
‘What’s your story?’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘Everyone has a story,’ he said, leaning against the desk and folding his arms. At six-foot one he towered over the five-foot five technical assistant. His steely glare was bewitching.
‘I don’t.’ She blushed, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. ‘I’m twenty-six, I live with my sister, have a cat called Odie and student debts that would make Greece look well managed.’
Simon smiled. ‘Single?’
‘Ye-es,’ she said slowly. She had already clocked his wedding ring and wondered where this conversation was going. She didn’t want there to be any awkwardness, particularly in such a confined space.
The door to the autopsy suite was pulled open and Matilda Darke entered the room.
‘Ah, DCI Darke is here,’ Lucy said, quickly. ‘Let me introduce you.’
Unfortunately, Lucy didn’t get a chance. She was about to open her mouth to speak when Simon overtook her and approached Matilda with large strides, holding his hand out for her to shake.
