Five days earlier
At The Star Inn, I order an orange juice and a double whisky at the bar, then carry the drinks through to a wood-panelled side-room imbued with the odour of a thousand spilled drinks, and a carpet so threadbare the pattern only persists in the shadows.
Detective Inspector Bill Calder is sitting by the unlit fireplace, at a small round table with folded beermats stuffed under three of its cast iron feet. Bill is in his third decade in the force now, and on the cusp of retirement. He looks tired, and older than I remember, though that can happen with people who were in Born Killer, all that time spent looking at their faces in the edit suite having cemented a portrait of them in my head that’s becoming less true to life with each passing day.
Bill drains the last of his Guinness, puts his glass down and wipes the foam from his moustache with the back of his hand.
‘Perfect timing,’ I say, holding up the whisky.
Bill lifts his hand in a wave and I step through the hazy light streaming in through the etched glass windows, and set the drinks down as he gets to his feet then gives me a brief hug. He smells of sweat and beer, and cheese and onion crisps, but I don’t mind.
Born Killer is my documentary, but it wouldn’t have happened without Bill. He was one of the first people I interviewed when I decided to investigate Amy’s death. He told me all about finding Amy’s body in the old well up in Cooper’s Wood, and about the bad dreams that followed. Then he told me about the investigation, and how he never believed that Connor, Amy’s boyfriend at the time of her murder, was guilty.
We spent countless hours together over the next two years, trying to piece together the story of what really happened that night. And I grew to enjoy the company of this quiet, clever man, who was willing to share his time and expertise with me, and whose eyes would sparkle whenever we thought we’d found a new lead.
‘Good to see you.’ Bill pats me on the back, whiskers grizzling my cheek, then returns to his seat, setting the table rocking with a nudge from his bulging stomach.
I take off my coat, pull up a stool. ‘How are things?’
‘Better now.’ He sips his whisky and grimaces at the burn, then slides a beermat over to his side of the table with his finger and sets the glass down. ‘Day off,’ he says. ‘But Lou’s got her mum over.’ The corner of his mouth twitches. ‘I’d sit here all afternoon if it were up to me, but I promised I’d be back within the hour. So, shall we do ourselves a favour and save the small talk?’ I nod and Bill lowers his voice, as if we might be overheard, though we’re the only two people here. ‘First things first, tell me you’re not thinking of making another documentary, because if you are, I don’t want any part of it.’
I tell him I’m not, that I don’t even have my equipment with me.
‘But come on, Bill,’ I say. ‘Two kids, same age, from the same school, murdered in the same location? I had to come, didn’t I?’
He lifts a finger, slowly shakes his head. ‘What happened to Evan Cullen is nothing like what happened to Amy. Someone did a real number on that kid, beat him black and blue.’ He lifts a hand and taps the back of his skull. ‘He died from a blow to the head, and his body was left where he fell, out in the open. He wasn’t anywhere near the well—’
‘But he was close, right?’ I say. ‘Half a mile away, maybe less?’
At least it looked that way, going from the map printed in the newspaper, next to a series of CCTV stills that traced Evan’s last known movements. They captured him walking down Broad Street in his school uniform, his bag slung over one shoulder, buying a snack from a newsagent’s, paying a brief visit to Westhaven Library, before seemingly vanishing. Thirty-six hours later, his body was found in Cooper’s Wood.
‘I thought maybe you could give me the inside story,’ I say. ‘What do you think? The two of us, working together again? It’ll be like old times.’
I look for that glint in his eye but can’t find it.
Bill shakes his head. ‘This isn’t like last time,’ he says. ‘This is a live investigation, and I don’t want you getting in the way of that.’ His expression softens, and he gives my arm a gentle squeeze. ‘I get it, though. Really, I do.’
‘Get what?’ I say, pulling my arm away.
‘Just that I know what it’s like having unfinished business,’ he says. ‘Some cases, even when you’re done with them, they’re not done with you. But that doesn’t mean you did a bad job, it just means you can’t join all the dots, and there ain’t a thing you can do about it.’ He pauses for another sip of whisky, then pulls in a long breath, like a sigh in reverse. ‘When we met, you told me you wanted to tell the world Amy’s story, and that’s exactly what you did. And you made a damn fine job of it.’
‘Apart from the ending,’ I say. ‘I never got to tell that part.’
‘No, but you did everything you could; followed every lead, left no stone unturned …’
‘But this could be a new lead, Bill.’ I lean forward in my seat. ‘You’re talking like I should just give up and go home.’
‘You did go home,’ Bill says, with a small laugh. ‘We all did. Even Connor.’
There’s no arguing with that. And a week ago, I was the one telling BlinkView it was over – No more Born Killer, not now, not ever.
But that was before another child was murdered.
‘I just want to make sure,’ I say. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’
Bill smooths his moustache down with finger and thumb, says nothing.
‘Fine,’ I say, with a sigh. ‘What about the parents? Think they’ll talk to me? Maybe you could put in a word?’
Bill laughs. ‘You’re not serious?’ He looks at me as if I’ve gone mad, then leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. ‘Evan Cullen’s mum is John Dalton’s sister,’ he announces, then adds, as if I couldn’t work it out for myself, ‘The kid’s his nephew.’
My God. I sit back, stunned into silence.
John Dalton is the ex-police officer who planted the evidence that helped convict Connor. Born Killer fans not only hate him, they celebrated every misfortune to come his way after he was exposed: his demotion, the loss of his job, the breakdown of his marriage. And I admit, I took some pleasure in his downfall too. But this? This is on a whole new level. A family member – a child, no less – taken away so cruelly? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.
‘I didn’t know,’ I say, as much to myself as to Bill.
‘Heard they were close,’ he says. ‘The kid’s dad wasn’t around, so Dalton stepped up. He even lived with them for a while, after his divorce, before he moved back to his parents’ old place.’
I nod, though am barely present.
How is it possible for such an important piece of information to have passed me by?
I think back to the articles I’ve seen in the papers and online, the pictures and video of Evan’s mum looking harried and distraught. I don’t recall any mention of Dalton. Perhaps there wasn’t any, or perhaps I wasn’t reading closely enough. One thing’s for certain, the fans will be all over this.
Dalton has always insisted on his innocence. In every interview he’s given, and there have been many, he’s stuck to the same story: the discovery of Amy’s bag in Connor’s bedroom, two days after a thorough police search found nothing, is as much a mystery to him as it is to everybody else. Which is nonsense, of course. Body-cam footage, that the police insisted didn’t exist during Connor’s trial and then went on to claim had been mysteriously ‘misfiled’ when I uncovered it during the making of Born Killer, proved Amy’s bag wasn’t present during the original search, and that it had to have been planted while Connor was being held in custody.
Dalton put it there, I’m sure of that. What I’ve never been certain of is why. If the pressure to find the killer was too much, and he planted it to frame an innocent young man he had a grievance against, or if he did it because he truly believed in Connor’s guilt and wanted to secure the conviction. If it’s the latter, I can only imagine what might be going through his head now his nephew’s body has turned up, less than half a mile from the place where Amy was killed.
I have a feeling the open wound Born Killer left behind in Westhaven might be about to get a lot worse.
‘Shit.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘People are going to be looking for someone to blame.’
‘Already are,’ says Bill. ‘There were protestors outside Connor’s when I drove by this morning. You know the type.’
I do. When Connor was released, a handful of people made camp on the lawn in front of Westhaven Town Hall for three days, waving signs with slogans on them, chanting about their children not being safe with Connor back on their streets.
Bill continues, ‘We’ve already spoken to him, of course. Just an informal chat at this stage.’
‘And?’
‘Says he was home all night, with his grandmother. Not exactly the most credible of alibis. We may need to bring him in for further questioning.’
‘But why?’ I say. ‘There’s no reason to suspect him any more than there is me or you.’
‘Come on, Jess. Don’t be naive,’ says Bill. ‘You know why.’
I do, but that doesn’t make it right.
‘You seriously think he’d take revenge on Dalton by killing his nephew?’
Bill holds up a hand. ‘Right now, I don’t think anything, but a kid’s been killed, Jess. We have to look into every possibility. Besides, the sooner we exclude Connor from our enquiries, the better it’ll be for him.’
That may be true, but it still doesn’t seem right that Connor should automatically be considered a suspect because of something he didn’t do, rather than something he did.
A warm hand lands on my arm. ‘Look,’ Bill says, sounding like he’s already regretting what he’s about to say. ‘If you must know, right now the investigation is focused on Evan’s online activity. We think he might have been lured to the woods by someone he was exchanging messages with on social media. An older man, maybe.’
‘You think he was being groomed?’
A small nod. ‘It’s a possibility. We’re still going through his accounts, trying to track down anyone he was in regular contact with online who might live in the local area, anyone with a record, anyone who seems suspicious. So, you see why we don’t think there’s any connection to Amy’s case?’
It’s a different M.O.
Amy wasn’t beaten the way Evan was. She didn’t die from a blow to the head, and while she might well have been lured to the woods the night she was killed, that didn’t happen over social media. Amy didn’t even have a Myspace profile. And as for WhatsApp, Instagram, Snapchat and TikTok? They weren’t invented when she was killed.
Still … two kids, same age, from the same school, murdered in the same location – or near enough. Despite what Bill says, my gut is telling me there’s something here.
‘If anything comes up?’ I say.
Bill nods. ‘I’ll let you know. But in return, I need you to keep a low profile. Don’t go asking too many questions. If you’re seen to be interfering with the investigation, we will step in. Understood?’
‘Understood. I’ll behave, I swear.’ I put a hand over my heart, the way Freya does when she’s making a solemn promise.
‘Good,’ says Bill. ‘People have got enough to be dealing with right now. They’re scared, worried for their children, worried for themselves. Something like this happens and it puts a community on edge, people don’t behave rationally. What we need is for everyone to stay calm and let us do our job so we can catch the bastard who did this.’
‘Got it,’ I say, and I drain the last of my orange juice, get to my feet and start buttoning my coat.
‘Not staying for another?’ Bill looks at his watch. ‘By my reckoning, I’ve still got thirty-five and a half minutes’ drinking time left, and I intend to make the most of it.’
‘Another time. I’ve left Freya with Dad,’ I tell him. ‘She’ll be running him ragged.’
‘Fair enough.’ Bill glares at me over the rim of his empty glass. ‘Remember what I said: low profile.’
Outside, I walk a little way down the road before calling Dad, both to check in on Freya, and to let him know I’ll be a little while longer than expected.
‘There’s someone else I need to see,’ I tell him.
I hear Freya’s excited chatter in the background – Grandpa! Come see, come see!
‘There in a minute, sweetheart,’ Dad says to Freya, then to me, ‘Someone else?’
It would be so much easier to lie, but if I’m going to be investigating what happened to Evan Cullen, I’m going need him to help look after Freya. I need him onside. So, I tell him the truth.
‘Connor.’
Dad replies with an exasperated sigh and I follow it up with one of my own.
‘I’m just trying to help,’ I tell him.
‘That’s the problem, love,’ he says. ‘Some people are beyond help.’ Then he hangs up, leaving me wondering if he’s talking about Connor, or about me.