The Sister(73)

‘Evil bitches,’ the old man muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they stood by the graveside.

There was no wake, but before they left the graveyard, the eldest aunt pulled him to one side. ‘Martin, if you want any sort of future that’s worth having, you’ve got to get away from him, we’ll help you all we can. You know where we are.’





Afterwards, Martin packed his things into a single holdall and walked to the door. The old man blew smoke after him, and flicked his cigarette end out of the door – right over his head, laughing. ‘How do you think you’re going to get along without me, eh?’ He fished another cigarette from the packet and lighting it, blew a long tantalising plume at the boy, the look on his face, smug. ‘You think you’re better than me? Well, let me tell you son, the apple don’t fall far from the tree.’

At that time, he wasn’t sure he knew what he meant. Once outside, he looked down at the smouldering butt and ground it hard into the concrete with his heel.

The old man stood grinning, as if to say, you’ll be back.

He took one last backward look at him and was gone.





Chapter 57



The caller had resisted the temptation to taunt, but it was time to draw Kennedy into the game. It didn’t matter if he got close. If need be, he’d stop him in his tracks. Clearing his throat, he picked up the phone.

He’d seen a film about the Scorpio killer; he used to taunt the police, and they never caught him. It was only after he was dead that they thought they knew who he was. The caller’s lips pulled into a sneer, revealing his teeth; he flexed his tongue, preparing his voice. His eyes were flat and humourless. Catch me when I’m dead! I can live with that.



Tanner took the call; he noted the time as 8:57 a.m.

‘Jack Kennedy?’

The question itself was innocent enough, but the tone in which it was spoken, immediately put him on the defensive. There was something familiar about the man’s voice. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew he’d heard it before. ‘You mean DCI John Kennedy? Who’s calling—?’

The caller interrupted him. ‘He’s Jack to me, all right?’ the voice was impatient. ‘And I’m calling about the Kathy Bird case.’

Tanner bristled with suppressed anger, but remained calm, his voice smooth. ‘Do you have some information for us? I’ll have to take your details—’

‘No time for that. I know what happened to her,’ his voice lowered to a hoarse confidential whisper.

Poised with his pen above his writing pad; the DI noticed a tiny tremor in his fingers as he held it there, becoming more pronounced as he waited for the caller to continue.

‘That missing girl, Eliza Staples,’ he paused for effect. ‘I’ve got her.’

‘Is she safe?’ he asked, scribbling notes and then striking a line through Eliza, correcting it to Eilise.

‘You asked for a name. Tell your boss the name is Lee Harvey Oswald.’

His stomach turned over. This is no crank caller, crazy, maybe, but no crank. A cold chill ran down his spine. The caller disconnected before he had a chance to ask him anything else. He sat staring bemused at his notebook, he scribbled down the conversation while it was fresh in his mind. When he finished, he rose from his chair and walked out of his office.



It was three minutes past nine in the morning; Theresa had just arrived and was removing her scarf and overcoat by her desk. She caught sight of him looking at her and said, ‘Good morning, John, how are you today?’

‘I’m very well and you, Theresa?’

‘I’m fine, John,’ she said it with a slight smile, and he smiled back, somewhat subdued. When the DCI was around, everyone called him Tanner to avoid confusion, but Theresa always called him John, he loved the way she drawled when she said it, making it sound like Shawn, but with a J. He liked her more than he was letting on, and he thought she felt the same. He shook his head to clear the budding fantasy. Kennedy would make his life hell if he knew; then it dawned on him.

The caller. He suddenly knew who he sounded like; he sounded just like Kennedy.



The lights flickered before coming on fully in the DCI’s office. He hadn’t seen him arrive. With his notebook in his hand, he sauntered over, knowing that, with his latest tidings, he wasn’t going to be popular. Yesterday, he had called him a prophet of doom; he had to laugh at that one. That’s a bit rich, coming from you, sir. He leaned against the wall, attempting to gauge the right moment to go in.

Theresa caught his attention and pulled a mock suspicious face at him, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips to one side of her face.

He raised his eyebrows at her, and she mouthed a silent question. What are you doing?

Waiting for the chief, he mimed back and then grinned at her as he shrugged himself away from the wall. He turned and taking a deep breath, knocked on the door.

Kennedy’s voice bellowed, ‘Come in!’



The chief glared at him as he stepped into his office, clearly irritated. ‘Jesus, Tanner, I’ve hardly got my jacket off, for crying out loud.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t help it. It’s really important.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it is, but I need a coffee first.’