Knife and Death: A killer seeks revenge. A friend brutally murdered. A woman runs for her life. (DCI James Hardy Book 1) Read online

  Knife and Death

  J. A. Gill

  Contents

  Knife and Death

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Afterword

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  J. A. Gill

  Knife and Death

  A Detective Chief Inspector James Hardy Novel

  A ruthless killer is seeking revenge. A friend is found brutally murdered. A young woman on the run for her life.

  DCI James Hardy is hunting two killers who are on a bloody rampage across London. Bodies are piling up and Hardy is under more pressure than ever to solve the cases. With his family under threat and his personal life and career close to tatters, Hardy questions his ability to hold it together long enough to find the killers.

  When a family friend is found brutally murdered Hardy faces an investigation which is not only complex and emotional but perhaps beyond his reach. As the body count rises Hardy discovers his killer is part of a criminal underworld where our laws don't apply.

  A second killer wants Hardy's attention. A killer who wants revenge. A killer who will stop at nothing until those who crossed him have paid the ultimate price.

  The recently widowed Hardy, finds himself in the middle of two bloody investigations which are driving him to breaking point in this fast-paced thriller.

  'A relentless roller coaster of suspense and jolting plot twists, Knife and Death proves J. A. Gill to be a crime thriller writer of the highest calibre. If you love crime thrillers then this is for you.'

  One

  River Thames, London, England

  From their manner you'd never guess the two men were driving to the river with the Albanian's dead girl in the back of their Mercedes C Class. 'I told her that's how I've always made tea. Milk and tea bag in a mug, then pour on the bloody boiling water,' said Jimmy Kane. 'You know what Aggie said?'

  Chris Perkins shook his head. He couldn't speak he was laughing too hard, 'Nah, go on, tell me.'

  'She said I was 'uncouth'. So I asked her, what does uncouth have to do with making a cup of bloody tea? Do you want a cup or not?' The two men were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes and Jimmy had to concentrate to drive in a straight line.

  'You know what?' said Jimmy. 'She then got all upset with me, yeah with me. You know how she gets all huffy and puffs out her lips. Saying I was spoiling her Downton Abbey time.'

  'You better watch it Jimmy, I reckon' she'll have you dressed as one those Downton butlers the way she's going. Sounds like your Aggie is getting herself sophisticated. I hear they call it Downtonitus.' The two men cracked up again.

  Jimmy flicked on the indicator and parked up alongside the river. The two men put on their caps, lifted their collars and got out. Chris looked over the side of the bridge to the cold black water of the Thames below. 'High tide. Just like I told you,' he said proudly.

  Jimmy opened the boot of the car and the two men grabbed either end of the plastic sheeting the girl was wrapped in then carried her to the wall where they rested for a moment.

  Chris checked the time on his phone: 3.25 a.m., 'It's my birthday today.'

  'Really? Well in that case you're buying breakfast, mate,' said Jimmy.

  The two men rolled the body back and forth and started to sing. 'Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear whoever you are...' They rolled the body off the bridge and waited for the splash. '...Happy birthday to you!' Jimmy and Chris jumped back in the Mercedes and headed off through the early morning streets.

  'So did your Aggie want a cup of tea in the end?'

  'No. In the end she decides she wants coffee. And get this, I got that wrong as well. I made regular coffee but she now drinks decaf. I tell you things are getting very complicated in my house. I love her to bits, don't get me wrong. But things are complicated.'

  'Sounds it,' said Chris sympathetically.

  'Just you wait. Your girl will have you running round in circles soon enough. You mark my words.'

  Two

  Strictly speaking this wasn't my case and I was only there because Detective Inspector Rayner had called in a favour. He needed back up and I owed him. We arrived at the home of Simon Baker just after 7 p.m. It was a warm summer's evening and I was meant to be home, I definitely wasn't in the mood for the bluster coming out of Baker's mouth. Another team were meant to be handling this search but it was dropped in my lap at the last minute. 'What the hell is this all about? I'm just off out for a dinner engagement, an awards ceremony. Whatever it is it'll have to wait, so if you'll excuse me officers,' said Baker.

  'Could we speak with your wife please, Mr Baker?' asked Rayner.

  'She's not well, she's sleeping. I really am in a hurry, officers, I'm already running late, so if you can call back at a more convenient time and perhaps phone ahead next time.'

  'It's Detective Inspector Rayner and Detective Chief Inspector Hardy. And this won't wait,' barked Rayner.

  'You could be the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge for all I care, turning up out of the blue is very inconvenient, we can't all work to a police timetable, most of us plan our days. So as I have already said, I'm afraid whatever it is it's simply going to have to wait. I have to be at this ceremony and you're making me late.'

  'We have a warrant to search the premises,' said Rayner, passing him the warrant.

  'What are you talking about?' said Baker. 'Why would you need a warrant?'

  Rayner had now had enough of standing on the doorstep trying to ask politely. I suspec
ted Rayner wouldn't be applying for a position as hostage negotiator anytime soon, and he definitely didn't have the temperament today. He'd had enough of Baker's waffling and so pushed the front door open. He breezed past Baker who was now red in the face and very agitated. And to my mind Mr Baker was showing signs of a man who was more than just annoyed at being made late for a party.

  'How about you take a seat, Mr Baker,' I insisted. 'Detective Inspector Rayner is going to take a look around. If you have any questions about the warrant feel free to ask. Otherwise, we'll take a look around and be out of your way quicker than you can say 'Vincent van Gogh'.'

  Baker looked unimpressed. He watched and listened as Rayner began moving from room to room.

  'Which room is your wife in?' I asked. Baker looked at me but didn't answer, his attention was on Rayner. 'Your wife,' I repeated. 'Which room?' Baker sat in dumb silence.

  Rayner moved upstairs. I could hear drawers and doors opening and closing. After a while Rayner came back down and stood at the foot of the stairs. He looked around as though looking for something or trying to find his bearings. He looked at me and then turned and hurried along the hall to the kitchen. A few moments later he came back and stood in the doorway. He looked at Baker. 'The door in the kitchen. The one on the right. It's padlocked. Where do you keep the key?'

  Baker looked at Rayner, then at me, then back at Rayner.

  'The key?' repeated Rayner. 'Either that or I crowbar it off. It makes no difference to me. In fact I'd enjoy using a crowbar.' Baker stood, felt around and without a word passed me the key from his shirt pocket. I handed it to Rayner who then disappeared back into the kitchen. Baker was leaning forward in his chair as though he was just as interested as I was to learn what Rayner might find. For several minutes it was quiet and then I heard voices and then sobbing.

  'Hardy, I've found Mrs Baker,' called Rayner. 'You ought to take a look at this. Cuff him first, we're going to want to take him with us for questioning.' Baker jumped to his feet and ran for the door. I moved quickly and with a forceful push redirected him so he missed the door and instead hit the door frame face first. He fell backwards and landed on his backside. I turned him over onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back. 'I don't think you'll be making it to your party tonight, Mr Baker. Still I'm sure back at Scotland Yard they'll rustle up some canapés for you, if you ask nicely. Though I think we're all out of champagne.' As much as I dislike sarcasm I couldn't help myself. I dragged a reluctant Baker to the kitchen and sat him in a chair.

  'Through here,' called Rayner. I went through the unlocked door and found Rayner comforting who I guessed to be Mrs Baker. I looked around the room which was full of art, there were canvasses everywhere. There was also a bed and a small table. An area had been partitioned and contained a sink, shower and toilet. Mrs Baker looked pale and though she was trembling she'd stopped crying. Instead she was sitting upright and was trying to be strong. 'I won't let that man see me crying. You know it was my art that kept me going. My art, not his. Mine. I prayed every day and had faith that eventually the truth would come out,' said Mrs Baker.

  'What are you telling us?' asked Rayner.

  'I'm telling you my husband has kept me here. He kept me a prisoner in my own home. If I didn't produce art for him he would stop feeding me. He sometimes turned off the water for days so I couldn't drink. He beat me and threatened me. Said he would kill me and no-one would ever know.'

  'You're safe now,' I said. 'When you're ready we're going to get you out of here. You need never worry about your husband again. I assure you.'

  'Where is he?' said Mrs Baker.

  'He's just outside in the kitchen. He's handcuffed. But don't worry I'll take him away and you won't need to see him. Just give me a few...'

  Mrs Baker interrupted me. 'No. I want him to see me as I walk out of here. I want that talentless coward to see me. I want to look him in the eye.'

  Rayner and I looked at each other. Rayner nodded in agreement. I went ahead and stood next to Mr Baker. Rayner brought Mrs Baker out through the door and into the kitchen. Mr Baker kept his head down and said nothing. Mrs Baker glared at him and as she walked past. Before leaving the kitchen she turned and spat at him. 'You're finished. The world is going to know the truth. The truth that you took my art and passed it off as your own. You talentless, worthless, nobody. I hope you rot in hell.'

  Mr Baker said nothing, he sat a little straighter in his seat only lifting his eyes slightly to watch his wife attempting to leave the house with pride and dignity. 'You know none of this is what it seems, Chief Inspector,' said Mr Baker once his wife had left.

  'Really?' I said in disbelief. A little unsure what he could say that would change what was clear for all to see.

  'She asked to be locked in there. So she could work. So she wouldn't be distracted. It was her idea. The sad thing is I think she has been in there too long and become delusional. You see she lived for the art, I begged her to come out and to enjoy life, to take some time off. But she's obsessed. It breaks my heart to see her like this. The woman I married is still in there somewhere, I know it, but she's buried deep inside a woman who has become obsessed with creating another and another and another piece of art.'

  'Whilst you profited?'

  'I suppose that is how it could be perceived to the casual observer.'

  'To the casual observer it looks as though you as good as locked your wife in the basement for years. That you told the world your wife was dead. That you passed off her work as your own. That her talent made you rich. That her talent made you a celebrated artist the world over. That you passed off her work as your own. To the casual observer I would say you look a fraud.'

  'What do you know of the art world?'

  'Not a lot I suppose. But I do know if what you say is true and your wife is ill, then most husbands would have sought treatment -- not a padlock.' I'd heard enough from Mr Baker for the time being. I lifted him out of the chair and led him to a waiting squad car.

  Three

  I was feeling proud and at the same time felt butterflies in my stomach. Like the rest of her orchestra group my little Alice was on stage clutching her violin. Her music teacher was at the piano and the performances were about to commence. Faith was sat on my lap, her eyes wide open taking it all in. She adored her big sister and couldn't wait to see what was going to happen. Faith's little arm was up behind my neck and her fingers were making circles in my hair. In her other hand she was clutching Mr Puppy, her comfort toy, who smelled ready for a another trip to the land of soap and water. Mr Puppy went with her everywhere and was looking pretty battered these days but Faith didn't care. She was probably a little too old to still have him but Mr Puppy had comforted her through a lot of tough times and wasn't going anywhere for the foreseeable future, he was a part of the family. Faith squeezed Mr Puppy and made sure he could see Alice up on the stage.

  Alice caught my eye from the stage and we exchanged excited smiles. I gave her a wink and Alice sat a little taller in her seat. She was a confident and pretty girl. She was looking more like her mother every day. I looked up and prayed their mother was with us tonight and could see her two little angels. I miss you, honey. I looked at Monica and she put her hand on mine. We both had tears in our eyes and she knew what I was thinking: I missed my beautiful wife Helena, Monica's best friend.

  'Thank you,' I mouthed silently. Before I could continue Faith began hopping up and down excitedly and tugging at my hair with her little fingers. 'Daddy, it's starting. Daddy look at Alice.'

  The three rows of children got to their feet and tentatively the first piece of music began. Alice was in the back row and one of the tallest. I remember when she was one of the little ones in the front row, even then she seemed to have a confidence beyond her years. The confidence of all these children always surprises me, they show no nerves and take in their stride the fact they're playing to a hall full of parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and teachers.

  Throughou
t the performance the children took it in turns to play a solo or duet. Faith watched in wonderment as her big sister Alice's turn came and she walked to the front and played her solo. She played the grade two piece that she'd been practising for weeks. It sounded perfect to me and I was ready to burst with pride and admiration. I felt like shouting out to the room: Did you truly appreciate what she just did? Do you know what she's been through? Can you comprehend at all what she just did? Instead I filled up and gave Faith an extra big squeeze and perhaps clapped a little louder than I should have. I didn't care.

  Performance over and after a few announcements from the deputy head teacher we said our goodbyes. Later than usual we arrived home and sat down to Monica's homemade lasagna.

  'To Alice, whose performance tonight was perfect, and who looked beautiful. Yes, I noticed the new dress,' I said and nodded to Monica.