Kill Them Cold Read online

  "Eric?"

  Tom shook his head and walked towards the dog which held its ground, tail wagging. As he approached it turned and moved to the cellar entrance, barking once more. Tom opened the door to the cellar head and the dog went to the top of the stairs, looking back and barking excitedly. Tom exchanged a look with Cassie who rolled her eyes.

  "We're taking Lassie's lead now are we?"

  Tom ignored the sarcasm, pulling on the light cord and stooping low to avoid banging his head. Throwing on the second switch he immediately reacted to what he saw. "No, no, no!" he said, setting off down the stairs and calling back over his shoulder to Cassie as he negotiated the steep, narrow descent. "Call an ambulance, now!"

  At the foot of the stairs he found Eric unconscious. Julia Rose was kneeling over him, her hands and feet secured at wrist and ankle with multiple layers of gaffer tape. Blood had been flowing from a wound at the side of her temple but seemed now to be clotting and drying amongst her matted hair. The blood had run down the side of her face and over another length of gaffer tape wrapped several times around her head – covering her mouth – so much so that she couldn't have removed it without a blade or a pair of scissors. She was visibly sweating, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, and she was applying pressure to Eric's abdomen – his shirt sodden and wet through with blood – trying to stem the flow of blood from Eric's midriff.

  Tom didn't have time to free her, Eric was the priority. He could see two bits of cloth wedged in place beneath Eric's shirt. Unbuttoning the shirt, Tom saw they were once light coloured but had now absorbed a great deal of fluid turning them a dark shade of crimson. Julia Rose had interlocked her fingers and was attempting to stem the flow of blood from what must have been a third wound higher up. Tom couldn't tell what had caused the injuries, there was too much blood and it was clear Eric was bleeding out; his face was pale and he was completely unresponsive to calls of his name. The darker the blood, the more serious the condition – that was what Tom had always been told – and even taking into account the gloom of the cellar this blood was very dark indeed. Easing Julia's hands out of the way, Tom applied pressure of his own. Eric groaned which Tom read as a good sign.

  "Stay with me, Eric."

  He heard someone descend the stairs behind him and Cassie knelt alongside.

  "Geez, what do I do?" she asked, her hands poised above Eric but unsure of what was required.

  "Pressure there," Tom indicated with a nod, and Cassie grimaced as she put the flat of her hands on both of Eric's wounds. "I think they're knife wounds."

  "You're sure?"

  He shook his head. "No, but if they were bullets, I think he'd be dead by now."

  Julia Rose had slumped back against the wall and cried possibly out of relief, or from shock.

  "Ambulance is on its way!" Tamara called from the top of the stairs. "How is he?"

  Tom glanced up over his shoulder. That was a question he didn't want to answer. The look alone was enough. Tamara closed her eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Tom stood with his back to the wall. Tamara sat alongside Becca in silence, holding her hand supportively. Becca stared blankly ahead. She'd been crying. In truth, they'd all been crying. The double doors opened and all eyes turned towards them as a nurse came through but she wasn't there to see them, she removed her face mask as she walked by. Cassie rounded the corner at the end of the corridor. She lingered at the nurses' station before catching Tom's eye and hurrying towards him. He moved to intercept her, reluctant to have a conversation in front of Becca bearing in mind what had just happened. Tamara nodded to him silently, her eyes darting to Cassie.

  "How is she?" Cassie asked, looking past Tom and observing the DCI and Eric's fiancée sitting in the chairs at the side of the corridor. Cassie's expression was fixed, her usual upbeat manner completely absent. Tom could see she, too, had been crying.

  Tom sighed, shaking his head. "Bearing up, under the circumstances. How did you get on?" He was eager to have something else to think about right now.

  "I had the lab send Tim Hendry's DNA samples over to Kristiansand. Elin is keen to have the analysis done, so they're hurrying it through."

  "It'll match," he said, meeting her eye.

  "You're confident."

  Tom nodded. "There's no way Alex Hart was driving that car. Julia Rose told us Alex Hart was at her apartment, unwell. He was recovering from having his appendix removed. There's no way he picked up Anette Larsen in his hire car but he wasn't the only one visiting. Hendry was there too. A friend's reunion of sorts … Cannell drove down from Oslo because he knew Alex Hart wouldn't be present—"

  "Because he was bedridden?"

  "Exactly. The relationship between William Cannell and Alex Hart never recovered after Brancaster, but he would have been willing to visit Julia's dig along with Tim Hendry and then join them for dinner."

  "So, you reckon Hendry borrowed Alex's hire car?"

  "Julia confirmed it while you were taking Hendry back to the station," Tom said, putting the heel of his palms to both eyes and pressing hard. The relief was fleeting. "And that's why he attacked her today. She saw the newspaper report on his breakfast table – read the dates surrounding Larsen's disappearance and murder – and she knew Alex couldn't have done it. Hendry was using Hart's hire car while he was recovering. It was the only possibility left." He swore under his breath drawing a cursory glance from a passing nurse making his rounds. "I blame myself for this!"

  "Don't be daft!"

  He shook his head. "We were so hell bent on thinking it was Cannell or Hart that we never stopped to consider what was right in front of us—"

  "Nonsense," Cassie chided him. "We were on the right path and would have got there in the end."

  "Yeah, maybe," Tom said.

  "Here's something else of interest," Cassie said. Tom looked at her. He needed something to cheer him up right now. "I showed the drugs you took from Hart's bathroom to Fiona Williams – she was at the station taking a blood test from some drunk driver – anyway, she found the drugs curious."

  "Curious how?"

  "The pills were branded but with a different stamp to those listed on the label." She fixed her brow in consternation. "The lab are going to test them but like I say – curious."

  "He switched them," Tom said quietly. Cassie looked at him inquisitively. "Hendry – he switched the tablets. That's why Hart deteriorated so quickly. That's why he was hallucinating the night he died – he wasn't knowingly off his medication, Hendry ensured he was, knowing what would happen." Tom shrugged. "All he would need to do is find a tablet that looked similar enough to be missed by Hart when he took them each day. He could have made the switch days ago."

  "The crafty sod! Just like planting the trophies for us to find—"

  "Hendry's a sociopath … as cold and uncaring as they come. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d buried Tina Farrow at the Branodunum dig site because it gave him some perverse pleasure to see if he could get away with it. He stashed her wherever he killed her and then returned the following night. Tina was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Tom said. "Did you take a look at the report Eric wrote after he’d spoken to Hendry's ex-wife?"

  "Yeah, Victoria. I was just going to say – you remember Eric said she was really nice and then turned on him when he mentioned what we were investigating?"

  "Yes. Eric figured she still harboured some misguided loyalty towards him and didn't want—"

  "Not to Hendry but to Michael, her son." Tom's head snapped round to look at her. "She mentioned him to Eric when she opened the door, thinking he was there about Michael but we never picked up on it. Michael is her child, her only child, and a brief check on the police national computer shows he was born a mere seven months after she split from Tim Hendry."

  "Nothing in our investigation showed up that Hendry had a son."

  "I don't think he knows. Smart on Victoria's part, don't you think? She put up with his violence for who knows how long b
ut then she found the courage to leave him, possibly around the same time she learnt she was pregnant." Tom glanced over at Becca. "The strength of a mother to be, eh? She wasn't protecting Tim. She was protecting her son from exposure to who and what his father was. One thing I don't get, though, is how did Hendry realise we might be on to him?"

  Tom sighed, rubbing at his face to get colour into his cheeks. "That one's on Eric, at least, in part. He told Julia about Kristiansand and she …"

  "She told Hendry." Tom nodded solemnly. "Damn it! Sometimes I could brain that little doofus!" Cassie said, immediately regretting saying so.

  "Hendry had all of us fooled," Tom said. "Not just us but everyone throughout his entire life – like I said – a monster hiding in plain sight."

  A doctor stepped out from a side door, casting a glance around and making a beeline for Becca. Tom and Cassie hurried over. The doctor appeared pained, wearily coming to stand before them. Becca shot up to her feet, Tamara alongside.

  "How is he?" Becca asked, her voice cracking as she spoke such was her fear of the answer.

  "Eric's lost a great deal of blood … and his body has suffered a severe trauma." Becca reached for Tamara's hand and squeezed it tightly as Tamara leaned into her. "I'm afraid we had to remove his spleen and one of the stab wounds nicked his pancreas." Becca gasped. "He is in a critical condition … but he is stable. The surgery went well and he is in the most capable hands. He is in recovery and we will be moving him up to ICU in a few minutes. You can go and sit with him if you like?" Becca nodded and the doctor smiled at Tamara and Tom before gesturing for a nearby nurse to escort Becca to where Eric lay in the post-surgery recovery room.

  The doctor turned to walk away but Tom touched his forearm to hold him back. Once Becca was out of earshot, he asked, "How is he doing?"

  "Your colleague is very ill, but he is young, strong and otherwise healthy."

  "What odds would you give him?" Cassie asked. The doctor looked at her, tilting his head to one side.

  "I'm not a betting man—"

  "Well, it's not your money, is it?" Cassie hit back. Then she apologised under Tamara's piercing gaze.

  Tom met the doctor's eye. "We just want to be prepared. Please, what's your gut telling you?"

  He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "No guarantees, but if it were my money," he looked at Cassie, "then I think it would be safe to bet he'll make a good recovery. He's got through the worst of it by getting to hospital and then surviving the operation. I think he'll make it, I do. Whoever it was who initially stemmed the flow of blood – your colleague owes them his life."

  The doctor offered them a polite smile and Tom thanked him as he walked away, and they all exchanged welcome glances, breathing a collective sigh of relief. The doctor may well have been reticent, an approach they could relate to in their line of work, but he also carried an air of confidence that only came from experience.

  Tom saw Cassie wipe her eye with the back of her hand, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Tamara exhibited similar signs of relief and Tom felt the tightness in his chest loosen.

  "Right," he said assertively, "who's staying here with Becca and who's coming back to the station with me to nail a serial killer?"

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Tim Hendry sat quietly in the interview room, one hand resting on the other on the table in front of him. He didn’t register a flicker of emotion or change in expression as Tom Janssen entered the room and took a seat opposite him and next to Cassie. Hendry had barely spoken since his arrest, remaining resolutely silent the entire time he’d been in custody. Tom placed a folder on the table in front of him, opening it and setting out several documents neatly beside each other. Tim Hendry maintained his expression, staring straight ahead.

  “Up until now, you’ve refused legal representation, Mr Hendry,” Tom said. “I intend to remind you of your rights before we—”

  “I have no need of representation.”

  Hendry’s tone was flat, monosyllabic.

  Tom inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  He started the recording, identifying himself and indicating for Cassie to do the same. He picked up a photograph of Anette Larsen, laying it in front of Hendry. The archaeologist’s eyes lowered to it briefly and then lifted to meet Tom’s gaze.

  “Anette Larsen, sixteen, heading home from a friend’s birthday party, but she didn’t make it home because she met you, didn’t she? You borrowed Alex Hart’s hire car several times that week, most notably for us on the night Anette went missing. A witness came forward recently, following a television appeal, claiming to have seen her getting into Alex’s car, and picked his photo out of a line up offered to her. I must admit that threw me initially. That is, until I remembered seeing a picture of you and Julia standing alongside each other in a photograph on Alex’s mantelpiece taken on your visit to see Julia at the Kristiansand excavation she was working on. At first glance, I thought it was Alex in the shot. The two of you looked very similar back then.”

  Hendry sniffed but said nothing.

  “We sent your DNA profile to our counterparts in Norway,” Tom said, putting another document down alongside the photograph. “And we’ve heard back. The police in Kristiansand are eager to speak to you.”

  “Are they?” Hendry said. He shrugged. “Are you expecting a confession from me; a dose of mea culpa?” He reached up and lightly touched the right side of his face where his cheek had reddened, a result of the impact when Tom had flung him across the cast-iron cooker in his kitchen. “I’m afraid I am disinclined to assist you, Detective Inspector.”

  “Oh, you misunderstand my intention here,” Tom said. Hendry’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t require a confession. We already have enough on you with the assault on Dr Julia Rose, her false imprisonment, and the attempted murder of Detective Constable Collet to ensure a conviction. The attention of the Norwegian police – your DNA matches what was found on Anette Larsen, by the way – will only add to your time inside.”

  Hendry took a slow, deep breath. “Then, what is the point of all this? Vanity?”

  Tom fixed him with a stare. “I wanted to look into your eyes, to see if there is any conscience there at all.”

  He scoffed, shaking his head. “Please, Inspector. What is it with you – or society as a whole – where you feel the need to assign rhyme or reason to every event?”

  “To try and understand the world we live in, and our place in it, perhaps?”

  “Naive,” Hendry said, disparagingly. “Some things just are, and it goes no further than that.” He took another breath, slowly fixing his eye on Tom. “I think I understand the situation I’m in quite well.” He interlocked his fingers in front of him, gently tapping his thumbs against each other and frowning. “Now – provided we can discuss matters in a grown-up manner – I will answer your questions. However–” he looked at Cassie “–if not, then I will be more than happy to sit here in silence until you lose patience and call time on this conversation.”

  Tom nodded almost imperceptibly. “Why?”

  “Why kill?” Hendry asked. Tom nodded. “Why does the sun come up or the rain fall?” He leaned forward, exhaling from his nose. “Because they just do.”

  “I’m not buying that.”

  “Really?” Hendry smiled. “Would you rather I told you how my father beat me, every day, for years, while my mother did nothing? Or perhaps how I learnt that pain is in your own mind, a call for help, that if it goes unanswered forces you to face the reality that you alone are responsible for what you do in this world.”

  Tom inclined his head. “I was thinking more along those lines, it’s true.”

  “But, of course, none of that is true. My parents were wonderful people, church goers and highly respected. As are my two brothers.”

  “So, what happened with you?”

  Hendry ran his tongue slowly along his lower lip before answering. “Lucky, I guess.”

  Tom refused to rise to the bait. “An
d what of your friends? You had a fleeting relationship with Julia Rose and Alex Hart was a lifetime friend—”

  “True enough. Julia was a distraction, someone I tried to love. She and Alex made quite a couple at one time. I wanted to see what the fuss was about—”

  “With Julia?” Cassie asked.

  Hendry looked at her. “Not necessarily, more the art of a meaningful relationship.” He rolled his lower lip beneath the upper, then shook his head. “I still didn’t understand the fascination people have with it, especially after I tried living with someone.”

  “Yes, we spoke with your ex,” Tom said.

  “Victoria? A dull woman, to be fair. But aren’t they all?”

  “She was less than encouraging about you, too,” Cassie said.

  Hendry smiled briefly. Was he amused or annoyed? It was impossible to tell.

  “What of your friendship with Alex?” Tom asked. “Julia told us how you found him work, supported him. That doesn’t fly with switching his medications and trying to frame him for murder—”

  “Friends are a necessary irritation, I’m afraid. Alex… was like a little lost boy at times, clinging to those around him. Sadly, we need people around us in order to function. No man is an island and so on.”

  “I think the meaning to that phrase is lost on a man like you,” Tom said.

  “Yes, I could have walked away at any point and,” Hendry continued without faltering, “to be quite honest, I could quite happily never see or speak to any of my friends ever again, and I would be comfortable with it.”

  “Why Tina Farrow?” Tom asked.

  “Ah, Tina.” He smiled warmly, looking up, as if recollecting a fond memory. “Now, she was an interesting girl. She could control and manipulate as well as me, albeit in a different way.”