Matilda drove as fast as she could through rush-hour traffic. She was soon out of the city centre and heading for Ben Hales’s home. Unfortunately, the lights were against her and she had to stop at almost every set. She stared impatiently, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. The second they changed to amber, she slammed her foot down and broke the speed limit.
The banging on the door was loud enough to wake the dead. Neighbours came to their windows to see who was making such a racket.
‘Ben, open the door. Come on, I know you’re in there,’ Matilda called out as she slammed a gloved fist onto the dirty front door.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ An elderly woman shouted from next door.
Matilda glanced up. ‘I’m looking for Ben Hales.’
‘Well he’s obviously not in if he’s not answering the door.’
‘He is in. I know he is,’ she said, looking back at Ben’s house. She could almost feel him at the other side of the front door, sneering at her. She thumped again, louder.
‘Will you stop that?’ the old woman shouted. ‘I’ve got a husband in here with Alzheimer’s. He’s trying to get some rest. He doesn’t need you banging the door down.’
Matilda ignored her. She went over to the window of the living room and tried to see inside. She squinted and made a visor out of her hands to get a better view. The television was off, but the place was still a mess.
‘I’m ringing the police,’ the woman said.
‘I am the bloody police,’ Matilda called out.
‘Yes. And I’m Meryl Streep,’ she replied with sarcasm.
Matilda dug in her jacket pocket for her warrant card. ‘DCI Matilda Darke. South Yorkshire Police.’
‘Oh. You’re Matilda Darke are you?’ She folded her arms. ‘He’s told me all about you.’
‘I’m sure he has.’
‘I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve coming round here, pestering him like this. Why don’t you leave the poor man alone? Haven’t you done enough already?’
‘Me pestering him? That’s rich! I don’t know what kind of lies he’s been telling you—’
The door slammed closed leaving Matilda talking to herself.
She stepped back and looked up at the house. There were no curtains drawn and no lights on. The house seemed abandoned, but she couldn’t help feeling Ben was in there, and had heard every word.
‘I didn’t expect you home just yet,’ Adele walked into her kitchen to find Matilda sitting at the breakfast table. There was an open bottle of wine in front of her and an empty glass. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, her eyes on the glass and not Matilda.
Matilda rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve had one drink.’
‘I just … I didn’t think you drank alone.’
‘I don’t. Usually. But you have wine here.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing. Why?’
Adele sat down opposite her. ‘You seem tense. Like you’re going to explode at any moment.’
Matilda took a deep breath. ‘I think I know who the killer is.’
‘Well that’s great – isn’t it?’ Adele asked, slightly confused.
‘Not really.’
‘I don’t follow.’
Matilda bit the inside of her cheek, stalling for time, trying to find the courage to voice her views. Unfortunately, once they were out in the open she couldn’t take them back. ‘I think it might be Ben.’
‘Ben? Who’s Ben?’
‘Ben. Ben Hales. Former Detective Inspector Ben Hales.’
‘What? Seriously?’
Adele looked down at the empty glass then back up at Matilda again.
She either thinks I’m pissed or I’ve finally gone mad.
‘I know it sounds, you know, a bit far-fetched, but, the phone calls. It’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do – taunt me.’
‘Oh God,’ Adele sighed. ‘Matilda, are you sure about this?’
‘Yes. Well, no, but. Shit! I don’t know.’ She pushed the glass away.
‘OK. Matilda, you have three dead bodies. Do you honestly think Ben Hales is capable of killing three people?’
Matilda looked at her hands and saw they were shaking – fear, dread, anxiety? She hid them under the table. ‘The killer is somebody who knows about the victim’s past, knows information that could only be found by someone who knows where to look. How else could the killer have found Brian Appleby and who he really was? And Katie Reaney. There is nothing online or anywhere to give away her real identity.’
‘Matilda, Ben doesn’t work on the force anymore. He hasn’t done for a long time. How could he get that kind of information?’
Adele tried to be as sympathetic as possible to Matilda, but it was sounding patronizing and placatory.
‘There are ways,’ Matilda said, less convinced than she had been a few minutes ago.
‘After what he did, I doubt he’d have someone on the inside helping him.’
‘You don’t know how convincing, how manipulative, he can be. His father-in-law used to be a chief constable. He could still have connections.’
‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘OK. You need to be really convinced about what you’re saying before you take it to Valerie.’
‘I know that,’ she almost snapped. ‘Why do you think I’ve had a drink?’
‘Look, run through everything with me and we’ll see what fits and what doesn’t.’
Matilda slumped in her seat. She had been through it all dozens of times in her head. Would it make sense saying it out loud? ‘No. Not tonight. I’m tired. I think I’m going to go back home.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’ve overstayed my welcome.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course you haven’t,’ Adele scoffed.
‘I have. If I stay here any longer, then I won’t go home at all.’
‘Why don’t we go for a run? That’ll clear your head. We could join Chris and Scott in the park.’
‘What? Are they out running again? Jesus, they’re going to leave us for dead on race day.’
Matilda had now been staying at Adele’s for a couple of weeks. However, she had only packed for a maximum of three days. Instead of returning back to the house to collect a few more pairs of knickers or clothes for work, she either quickly washed through what she had or went out to buy more items. There was a fear stopping her from going home.
Home. Home is where the heart is, apparently. Her heart was wherever James Darke was, and he certainly wasn’t at home right now. She was only desperate to go back there because her memories were there. She needed to feel James around her, his clothes, his belongings, his smell. That had faded months ago, but if she concentrated hard, she could still smell him, or so she thought.
It was only nine o’clock yet there was a silence surrounding her as she drove through the dark and gloomy streets of Sheffield. Where was the traffic? Where were the people who couldn’t be bothered to cook so had eaten out?
She turned left into her road and there was her house up ahead. It looked cold and lonely, not inviting at all. It wasn’t welcoming her home. It wasn’t beckoning her. She dug in the glove box for the tiny garage remote and pressed the button. Slowly, the door began to lift, and Matilda drove inside.
The door closed behind her. She turned off the engine and was plunged into darkness.
Carefully, Matilda made her way around her cooling car to the connecting door to the house. She opened it and stepped inside. It was cold. It was freezing cold. It was also quiet. Why hadn’t the alarm sounded? Feeling along the wall next to the door, she found the light switch. She flicked it on, but nothing happened.
Shit.
Had there been a power cut? Matilda tried to remember if her neighbours’ homes were in darkness, but she thought she saw a light on next door. Had the electricity been cut off?
She went back into the garage and, after walking around with her arms stretched out like a bewildered zombie, she found a torch. The fuse box was under the stairs.
Back into the house she pointed the torch to the ground, lighting up the mound of post at the front door, mostly brown envelopes, probably bills. There were a few items from Amazon, small enough to be posted through the letterbox. She walked around the other side of the staircase.
Matilda pointed the torch upwards and stopped in her tracks. It took a while for her brain to register what her eyes were seeing. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible, surely. Then it sunk in. She was looking at the back of a dead man hanging by the neck from her bannister.