The Christmas Killer Read online

  ‘I’m surprised you’re still here, guv. There’s fuck all going on.’

  It was the grating voice of DS Phil Stevens that interrupted James’s thoughts. The overweight detective was the only member of the team who had made him feel unwelcome. This was apparently because Stevens’s promotion to detective inspector had been put on hold as a result of James’s arrival.

  He was also clearly jealous of the new DI’s years of experience with the Met and NCA, rolling his eyes whenever James mentioned London.

  ‘I was just about to wrap things up and go,’ James said. ‘What about you?’

  Stevens shrugged. ‘I’m here till late and that suits me just fine. The in-laws are coming over for a pre-Christmas visit and they’re not my favourite people.’

  With perfect timing, James’s mobile phone rang, providing him with an excuse not to continue the conversation.

  He picked it up from his desk, glanced at the caller ID, then smiled at Stevens.

  ‘It’s the wife,’ he said. ‘I’d better take it.’

  James answered the phone as he watched his colleague turn and walk across the room towards his own desk.

  ‘Hi, hon,’ James said. ‘I’ll be heading home soon if that’s what you’re ringing to find out.’

  ‘It’s not, actually,’ Annie said. ‘I forgot to mention that the school nativity play is taking place this evening and I’m here now helping out. It means I most likely won’t be in when you get home.’

  ‘No problem. How has your day been?’

  ‘Good. I managed to clear all the junk from the bedrooms before I popped over to Janet Dyer’s house for lunch and a catch up.’

  ‘Isn’t she the one you used to be friends with at school?’

  ‘That’s right. She’s a great source of information for me because she knows the whats and wheres that I’ve missed since I’ve been away. She does have a tendency to get caught up in the village drama, though, and some people think she’s too loud and opinionated, but she’s helped me through some tough times in the past, and she’s a softie at heart.’

  ‘She sounds interesting,’ James said.

  ‘She is. Actually, I’m thinking about inviting her over tomorrow for a cuppa. I want to show her what we’re doing to the house and also give her some distraction. She’s a single mum and her ex-husband is picking her two boys up in the morning and taking them to spend Christmas with him and his new partner in Carlisle.’

  ‘Then I look forward to meeting her.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll like her,’ Annie said. ‘Meanwhile, you drive carefully coming home. I’ve made a cottage pie for you and it’s ready to be put straight in the oven.’

  ‘Terrific. Love you lots and see you later.’

  ‘You too, sweetheart.’

  One thing James didn’t miss about London was the traffic. Driving in the capital was a nightmare, and many streets seemed to be in a permanent state of gridlock.

  By comparison, getting from Kendal to Kirkby Abbey was a breeze. He headed east along the A684, crossed over the M6, and then north up the A683.

  The roads took him through some of the UK’s most beautiful countryside, lying between the Lake District and Yorkshire Dales National Parks. Of course, at this time of night he couldn’t see much, as the darkness stretched into the distance on both sides.

  It was just after six when he arrived at the village, one of the smallest in the area with a population of just over seven hundred.

  He drove past the small Catholic church and The White Hart pub, and turned left at the village store. He then skirted the small square where they held the monthly Saturday farmers’ market, and passed through the residential area that was crammed with quaint, stone-built houses.

  Their detached home was a short walk from the tiny primary school where Annie worked and had a driveway and a paved front garden. There were other detached houses either side, and across the road was a gated entrance to a field that offered stunning views of the distant peaks.

  James parked up and saw that Annie had left the lights on in their two-storey house. As he climbed out of his Audi, he was once again struck by how quiet the place was. It was another aspect of life here in Cumbria that he still hadn’t yet got used to.

  He was approaching the front door when he noticed that a parcel had been left on the step. It was about the size of a shoebox and wrapped in Christmas paper.

  His first thought as he picked it up was that it had been put there by one of the neighbours. But as he let himself inside, it struck him as odd that on the label that was stuck to it there were just three words written with a black marker:

  FOR DETECTIVE WALKER

  He took the parcel through to the kitchen and placed it on the table. Curiosity compelled him to open it before doing anything else.

  He tore off the wrapping and lifted the lid of the cardboard box. What was inside gave him such a shock that an involuntary gasp erupted from his mouth and he jumped back in horror. In the process, his hand struck the edge of the box and knocked it onto the floor.

  A wave of revulsion swept through him as he stared down at the object that rolled out. It was a large, blood-soaked bird that was clearly dead.

  James tried to swallow but couldn’t, and for several moments he just stood there while a pulse thundered in his temples.

  He noticed that the bottom of the box was lined with clingfilm, presumably to hold in the blood.

  ‘Why the fuck would someone do this?’ he said aloud to himself.

  After the shock wore off, he took a deep breath and knelt down to see if there was anything else in the upended box. But there wasn’t. However, when he stood again he spotted something attached by Sellotape to the underside of the lid. It was a Christmas card wrapped in clingfilm, and on the front of it were images from the carol The Twelve Days of Christmas.

  James always carried a pair of latex gloves in his jacket pocket, so he put them on before reaching for the card, aware that he should have done so before opening the box in the first place.

  He used the tips of his fingers to peel away the Sellotape and flick the card open. There was no seasonal greeting printed inside. Instead, someone had scrawled a message that caused the air to lock in James’s chest.

  Here’s a Christmas gift for you, detective Walker. It’s a little early, I know, but I just couldn’t wait. My very own take on the twelve days of Christmas, complete with a dead partridge. Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Annie was struggling to hold back the tears, and her insides were churning with mixed emotions. But she wasn’t at all surprised. It was how she usually reacted when she watched a primary school nativity play.

  She loved seeing Mary drop baby Jesus, the narrator stumble over his or her words, and the angels giggle amongst themselves because they had no real understanding of what was going on. It was all so touching and hilarious.

  But along with the joy there was always a sense of despondency and regret because none of the children on the little stage belonged to her.

  The audience began to applaud as the cast rounded off their performance with a stilted rendition of Silent Night. Annie felt a jolt of jealousy when the parents started to cheer and wave, their faces glowing with obvious pride. One day, she told herself. One day I’ll be sitting amongst them instead of here on the side lines with the other teachers.

  ‘Are you all right, Annie? You look as though you might be about to cry.’

  Annie turned to the woman sitting to her right and forced a smile.

  ‘I was just thinking back to when I played the part of Mary on this very stage,’ she fibbed. ‘I can’t believe it was thirty odd years ago.’

  Lorna Manning smiled back. ‘I wish I’d been here then. It must have been a lot different with at least twice as many pupils and parents.’

  Like many other small rural schools across the country, Kirkby Abbey Primary School was under threat becaus
e of falling pupil numbers and budget cuts. With only twenty-two children now enrolled, the council was considering closing the school, but Lorna – headmistress for the past ten years – was campaigning hard to keep it open.

  If and when it did close, parents would have to transport their kids to the nearest other school, which was some fifteen miles away. It was one of the very few negatives that came with the move back to Cumbria but, as far as Annie was concerned, they were far outweighed by the positives.

  She hung around as Lorna stepped up onto the stage to praise the children and thank all those who had come to see the show, especially the villagers who’d turned up to offer their support even though they weren’t parents. After that, everyone gathered in the reception area while the hall was cleared and the children got changed.

  Annie hadn’t expected to get involved with school activities so soon after arriving in the village. But a staff shortage had prompted Lorna to offer her some part-time work as soon as she expressed an interest. And that suited Annie perfectly, because it meant she could divide her time between shifts at the school and renovating the house.

  This was the first time since the move that she had been in the company of so many people. Some she recognised from before she left the village and moved to London thirteen years ago, others she’d met during the visits to her mother following her father’s death. But a good many of those around her she’d never seen before and she was keen to make their acquaintance.

  A table had been laid with free soft drinks, mulled wine and mince pies. Annie positioned herself next to it so that she could explain to people what was on offer and introduce herself to those she didn’t know. But the first person to approach the table was Janet Dyer – her twin sons had played shepherds in the play.

  ‘A cracking show as always,’ Janet said, helping herself to a wine. ‘Just the right mix of chaos and confusion. I loved every minute.’

  Annie laughed. ‘The twins were adorable, Janet. You must be so proud of them.’

  Janet nodded. ‘I am. And I intend to do everything I can to make sure they don’t turn out to be like their shitty excuse for a father.’

  It was three years since Janet’s husband Edward had left her for another woman. Annie had seen her a couple of times since then and had talked to her frequently on the phone. In the beginning, Janet had found it hard to cope and had confessed to being lonely. But eventually she had started to embrace being single again.

  She was a short, thin woman, with a placid face and neat, shoulder-length, fair hair, who worked as a carer for elderly people living in Kirkby Abbey and the surrounding villages.

  Annie was about to ask her what time Edward was picking the twins up in the morning, but Janet spoke first.

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ she said. ‘Here comes trouble.’

  She was staring at a man and woman who were walking towards them after exiting the hall. Annie recognised them immediately and felt a stab of apprehension.

  Charlie and Sonia Jenkins ran The White Hart pub and they were by far the most striking couple in the village. She was slim and in her late thirties, but looked much younger. Her husband, who Annie herself had actually had a crush on in school, was a dead ringer for Michael Bublé. The pair had been together since Sonia fell pregnant with their daughter, Maddie, at the age of seventeen.

  Sonia reached them first, and she had a face like thunder.

  ‘I want to ask you a question,’ she said, spitting her words at Janet and filling the air between them with the smell of alcohol.

  Charlie quickly came up behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t make a scene here,’ he said.

  ‘That was before I saw her looking at you in the hall,’ Sonia replied. ‘I could tell what she was thinking.’

  ‘Really?’ Janet said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Are you able to read minds when you’re drunk then?’

  Sonia clenched her jaw. ‘How dare you say that? I’m not drunk.’

  Janet tutted loudly. ‘You could have fooled me, Sonia.’

  Annie could barely believe what was happening. The Christmas spirit that had prevailed only moments ago was shattered as the two women glared at one another.

  Charlie put an arm around his wife and tried to move her away, but she refused to budge.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I’ve heard what she’s got to say for herself,’ Sonia said.

  Janet responded by rolling her eyes. ‘Then get to the point, for pity’s sake. What is it you want to ask me?’

  Annie was tempted to intervene, but didn’t dare for fear of inflaming the situation. Most of the other people in the room were still oblivious to what was going on and she didn’t want that to change.

  Sonia lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and said, ‘I want to know if it’s true that you’ve been having an affair with my husband.’

  Janet pulled a face. ‘No, it bloody well isn’t. Where the hell did you get that idea?’

  ‘You told one of the elderly folks you visit in the village,’ Sonia said. ‘He told someone who mentioned it to someone else and this morning it was passed on to me.’

  ‘Well it’s total rubbish,’ Janet insisted. ‘I don’t sleep with married men. Surely he’s told you it didn’t happen.’

  ‘Until I was blue in the face,’ Charlie said, clearly embarrassed. Then to his wife: ‘Look, Sonia, it’s either a malicious rumour or a huge misunderstanding. But whatever you think, this is not the place to talk about it.’

  Sonia’s face changed in an instant, as though she was coming out of a trance. She sucked in a shaky breath and started to speak, but the words tumbled out as wet sobs.

  ‘Let me get you home,’ Charlie said, and this time when he ushered her towards the door, she didn’t resist.

  After watching them go, Janet turned to Annie and said, ‘I can’t believe that just happened.’

  Annie shook her head. ‘Me neither. Are you all right?’

  ‘I will be once I’ve calmed down.’

  Annie noticed that she was shaking and her face had paled.

  ‘Is there any truth in what Sonia claimed?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ Janet replied. ‘You heard what I told her. I reckon someone is out to make mischief.’

  She reached for another glass of wine and downed it in one go.

  ‘I’d better go and find the twins,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s okay.’

  ‘That’ll be great. You take care.’

  Annie was relieved that the altercation hadn’t spiralled out of control. But it had unsettled her.

  She kept her feelings to herself as she bid a fond farewell to the children and their families, then helped Lorna and the other teachers to clean up.

  It was eight o’clock when she left the school and headed home. She forced herself not to think about what had happened, but she was in no doubt that it would be one of the topics of conversation when Janet came to the house tomorrow.

  It was a beautiful Cumbrian night, the sky crammed with an array of bright stars. Annie’s hooded parka kept the cold at bay as she walked along the narrow streets, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t about to be mugged, stabbed or confronted by Andrew Sullivan.

  She found comfort in the fact that it was very rare for something really bad to happen in a place like Kirkby Abbey.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Almost two hours had passed since James had unwrapped the parcel with the dead partridge inside. The repulsive ‘gift’ and the card that had come with it were still causing his mind to race in all directions.

  He just wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it a genuine threat or someone’s idea of a sick joke?

  It was troubling to think that so much thought and effort must have gone into it. The sender had either killed a bird or found a dead one, then stuffed it into the box with the card, before leaving it on the doorstep. It was strange, reckless, shocking and si
nister. It couldn’t be ignored.

  James had already called it in and had taken photos of the partridge and the handwritten message, which he’d sent to his superior. A patrol car was due to arrive at any minute to pick the bagged parcel up and take it to the forensic lab so it could be analysed for prints, DNA and any other trace evidence that might offer a clue as to who was responsible.

  The house to the left was empty, as usual, because the owners lived in Manchester and stayed there only occasionally. The property to the right was occupied by retired couple Roy and Jennifer Gray. James had just returned from asking them if they’d seen any cars parked out front this evening or noticed anyone carrying a parcel. But they hadn’t because they’d been too busy watching television.

  If this had been London or any other major city there’d be a good chance that CCTV cameras could be used to help solve the mystery. But there weren’t any in Kirkby Abbey, which was not at all unusual for such a small village.

  The questions were piling up inside James’s head as he sat at the breakfast bar with his hands wrapped round a mug of steaming coffee.

  How long had the parcel been lying on the doorstep? Was it put there soon after Annie left the house to go and help out with the school nativity play? If so, was it possible that she’d seen the person who’d left it?

  He checked his watch again and wondered when his wife would arrive home. The play must surely have finished by now, but he supposed it was possible she was still helping to clean up or that she had gone for a drink with some of the other school staff at one of the pubs in the village.

  He reached for his phone and brought up the photo of the message in the card.

  Here’s a Christmas gift for you, detective Walker. It’s a little early, I know, but I just couldn’t wait. My very own take on the twelve days of Christmas, complete with a dead partridge. Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

  His boss, Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Tanner, had asked James if he could think of anyone who might have embarked on a cruel mission to ruin his Christmas.