Motive Read online

  “I found it. She had it stuffed in a biscuit jar.” Terry stood and took the money from Ryan, who walked over to Sharon. “Think you’re clever, eh? Think you could hide it from us?” He slapped her across the face, not hard, but enough to keep her confused for the few seconds he needed. He grabbed Terry and headed for the door.

  “Next time, pay up, or I’ll let him have you.”

  Terry lingered for a moment, his hand massaging his stiff cock through his trousers. “Maybe I’ll teach her a lesson.”

  “Do me a favour. That kid’s doing my head in. Let’s go. You can get a better lay at the club tonight.”

  Ryan tugged at Terry’s sleeve, and the spell was broken. He followed Ryan out into the overgrown garden before Sharon had a chance to wonder what the hell had just happened.

  Chapter 21

  It was almost eight o’clock in the evening when Karen heard the shouting start. She was in bed, reading a book she’d borrowed from the school library. She couldn’t remember what it was called, but it was one of the crime stories she loved. She read a lot of them, because the bad guy always got his comeuppance.

  It was unusual to hear raised voices in the house. She’d lived alone with her father, Colin, ever since her mum had left four years earlier, and the only sounds she was used to were the vacuum cleaner and the television.

  Unable to contain her curiosity, Karen sneaked downstairs in her nightdress and bare feet and stood outside the kitchen door. The voices were louder, and it was clear her father and another man were angry.

  “It worked perfectly fine when I sold it to you!”

  “Bollocks!” her father shouted back. “The engine packed in after two days and the garage said it had been patched up just a few weeks ago. You must have known there was something wrong with it!”

  Her father had been angry ever since he’d bought the car from his neighbour. He’d been happy with the bargain at first, but once it stopped running, his demeanour changed. He told Karen he’d been conned, and that he wouldn’t be making the payments he’d agreed with Dane Edwards.

  Karen didn’t like Edwards. His son, Tom, went to her school, and he was just like his father. Arrogant, self-obsessed and full of crap.

  Karen had forgotten all about the car until that moment.

  She had other things on her mind.

  The door was slightly ajar, and Karen looked through the gap. Her father was standing with his arms folded tight across his chest, and Edwards was three feet away from him.

  “No, I’m not giving you another penny. You can take the car back and fix it yourself.”

  “We’ve got a signed agreement,” Edwards persisted. “Two-fifty a month for twelve months.”

  “That was before you tried to rip me off. You wanna do something about it? Take me to court. I’ll be happy to show the judge the mechanic’s report.”

  “I’ll fuckin’ do something about it!” Edwards looked around and saw the knife block. He took one out and held it towards her father. “Give me my fuckin’ money!”

  Colin Harper backed off, his hands in the air. “Don’t be stupid! You stab me, the police will know it was you. You gonna kill me for three grand?”

  Edwards hesitated, then slammed the knife down on the kitchen countertop. He pointed an angry finger at Karen’s father. “I’ll get my money, just you wait and see.”

  Karen ran from the doorway as Edwards stormed out of the kitchen. She ducked into the living room and heard him walk to the front door and slam it shut behind him.

  Karen waited a few minutes. She wanted to rush back to her room, but she needed a glass of water. She always got thirsty in the middle of the night and hated going through the dark house to get a drink. She sat on the sofa for another couple of minutes, then walked into the kitchen. Her father was standing at the sink staring out of the window into the back garden, a large shot of vodka in his hand. He took a big gulp, then topped up the glass.

  “Can I have a drink of water?”

  Harper spun to see her standing a few feet behind him. “Sure.” He stepped to the side to let her get to the sink.

  Karen took a glass from the cupboard and held it under the cold tap, praying it would fill quickly so that she could go back to her room.

  It was always worse when he had vodka.

  The glass was half full of water when he started stroking her long hair.

  That was how it always started.

  “You look so much like your mother.”

  Karen tensed, then immediately regretted it. He didn’t like it when she was anything but compliant.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just cold,” she lied.

  It seemed to satisfy him. His hands crept slowly down her back and came to rest on her buttock.

  Karen did her best to stay relaxed. You like it, she told herself, over and over. It was the only way to get it over with quickly and painlessly.

  It didn’t work. As his hand squeezed between her buttocks, Karen clenched. She relaxed immediately, but the damage was done.

  His hand flashed across her face, stinging her cheek and spinning her around. She placed her hands on the counter to steady herself, and that’s when she saw the knife.

  Time seemed to stand still.

  It was the knife Edwards had threatened her father with, and his fingerprints were all over it. Karen had pictured herself killing her father numerous times, and in numerous ways. Stabbing him, poisoning him, electrocuting him, but she’d never done it. She knew she would get caught and spend most of her life in prison, no matter what he’d done to her in the past. She’d also considered going to the police, but there were many reports on the internet about children not being believed. That would have left her in a worse position than she was in now, so she’d kept the misery to herself.

  Until now. The knife was there, begging to be used, and the prints on it would point the police to Edwards. She would have to make up a convincing story, but after her father was dead, she would have all the time she needed.

  She heard her father taking off his belt and knew she had just a few seconds to either act or take what was coming. That thought alone spurred her into action. Karen grabbed a piece of kitchen roll and used it to pick up the knife by the handle, then spun around and thrust it into her father's chest.

  Colin Harper stood still for a long moment. He looked down at the knife handle protruding from the left side of his rib cage, then back up to his daughter’s face. He tried to say something, but Karen couldn’t make it out. He took a step towards her, one hand outstretched while the other tugged at the handle of the blade. When he pulled it from his body, blood spurted over the floor and counter. Karen backed up against the fridge as her father took another step, then collapsed. He landed on his side, then rolled over and looked up at her, his head inches from her feet as he moaned.

  Karen looked down at him, feeling shocked but also glad. She’d saved herself from a beating that would have been followed by another rape, and she began to regain her composure as she realised that his abusive days were over.

  But she wasn’t free yet. She needed to come up with a story that would convince the police that Dane Edwards had been responsible for her father’s murder.

  I was upstairs in my room and heard them shouting. I looked out of the window when I heard the door slam and saw Edwards walking away from the house. He looked angry. Later, I went downstairs for a drink of water and found my dad dead on the floor.

  It sounded reasonable enough in her own head, but she’d read enough crime books to know that blood spatters were a giveaway. She checked her nightdress and saw a couple of tiny spots, big enough for a keen-eyed policeman to notice. That was easily remedied, though. She looked down at her father, who had gone quiet. His eyes were dull, his chest still. Karen knelt down next to him and hugged him, ensuring that a large amount of the blood soaking through his T-shirt got onto her nightdress.

  Karen stayed like that for a few moments as she thought about the n
ext step. She would have to call the police soon, but she couldn’t do it with a calm voice. A child finding a murdered parent, one they loved with all their heart, would be distraught. That was how Karen had to act: as though her father was everything to her, not the aggressive paedophile he really was. No one could ever learn of his actions. All that would serve to do would be to provide her with a motive. Motive and opportunity were what did for most killers in the novels she read, and she needed to ensure they both pointed towards Dane Edwards.

  Karen thought about the saddest moments in her life. There were plenty to choose from. The one that always made her well up was the day she’d learned that her mother was never coming back. As she remembered what that had led to, the tears started to flow. She practised her opening line a couple of times, then used her father’s phone to call 999.

  “Emergency, which service do you require?”

  “My dad’s dead!” Karen wailed. “Someone stabbed him!”

  “Okay, sweetheart, can you tell me where you are?”

  Karen bubbled out her address. “He’s not breathing!” she added. “There’s blood everywhere!”

  The operator asked her to try to remain calm. “What’s your name?”

  “K…K…Karen.”

  “Okay, Karen. Can you see if he’s breathing?”

  “He’s not!” Karen cried. “I hu…hugged him but he won’t wake up!”

  “I see. Is anyone else with you, Karen?”

  “No, just me and my dad! Please hurry!”

  “An ambulance is on its way. Can you get to the front door and open it for us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Open it now, so we know which house it is. You don’t have to go outside, just wait by the door.”

  Karen did what was asked of her. She left the hall light on and stood inside the doorway so that no one could see her in her night dress. She guessed she’d been asked to wait there because it would be less traumatic than staying with the corpse, and also so that she didn’t compromise the crime scene any further.

  The first vehicle to arrive was the police car. Two male officers dressed in black jumped out and jogged up the path to her house. The taller one went straight down the hallway while the shorter one took Karen gently by the shoulders and stooped his back so that their eyes were level.

  “Where is he?”

  Karen pointed to the door on the right. “In…there.”

  “Okay, you wait here, love.”

  The ambulance arrived just as the two cops went into the kitchen. By the time the first paramedic got to the door, the tall cop was walking out of the house. They exchanged a few words, then the police officer put an arm around Karen’s shoulder and led her into the living room. He sat her down on the sofa and took a seat next to her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and didn’t need to elaborate. Karen knew he was talking about her father’s passing. She put her hands over her face and forced a sob. The cop waited patiently.

  “What happened?” he eventually asked.

  Karen went through the story she’d concocted, though she made sure it didn’t sound rehearsed. She told him how she’d heard the shouting and the door slam, and how she’d seen Dane Edwards walking away from the house. “Dad told me that he wasn’t going to give Dane any more money for the car because it was a heap of junk. I think that’s what they were fighting about.”

  The cop asked if she knew where Edwards lived, and Karen gave him the house number. “It’s just across the street.”

  “What happened after Dane left?”

  “Nothing. I mean, it went quiet, so I stayed in my room reading. About ten minutes later, I went down for a glass of water and I…I…”

  The cop didn’t rush her, so Karen composed herself and eventually told him that she’d seen her dad lying on the floor, covered in blood, and she’d knelt down next to him and cradled him in her lap, trying to wake him up. “That’s when I called 999.”

  “Did you touch the knife?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, that’s good. What about your mum? Is she out?”

  “Mum left us four years ago. Dad said she got another man. I haven’t seen her since.”

  The cop nodded solemnly, then stood and walked out into the hallway before speaking into his radio.

  They stayed for over an hour. Karen watched as her father was taken out of the house on a wheeled trolley, and shortly afterwards a young female police officer joined them. She asked Karen the same questions, and Karen stuck to the original story, making sure to avoid embellishment.

  “How old are you, Karen?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “I understand that your mum’s no longer around. Is there anyone you’d like me to call? Maybe an aunt you can stay with…”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll stay here, if that’s okay.” She hadn’t had time to consider the aftermath, and being sent to live with someone wasn’t in her plans.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to get someone to look after you, just for a while.”

  Karen didn’t like the idea, but if she pushed, the cop might become suspicious.

  “Okay, but not my mum, please. I’ve got a school friend, Jane. She lives at number 30. Maybe I could stay with her.”

  * * *

  Looking back, it had turned out to be a good idea. The policewoman had spoken to Jane’s mum, Katherine, and she’d come over to the house and consoled Karen, offering her a home for as long as she needed. She’d been given the spare room and her bed and belongings had been brought over that night. Katherine also helped to arrange the funeral and her father’s estate, which amounted to the house and a few thousand in his bank account. The house had been sold, and after the bank took its slice, just over seventy grand was put into a trust fund for when Karen turned eighteen.

  Karen had stayed with Jane and her family for four months, until she turned seventeen. Armed with a GCSE A* in art, she’d sent out her CV and portfolio to numerous companies, eventually landing a place at an advertising agency. She’d moved into her own place, a rented one-bedroom flat in London, and stayed there until her eighteenth birthday, when she used her inheritance to put a deposit down on a three-bed semi-detached house. It was bigger than she needed and required some work, but she’d seen the investment potential, even at that tender age. It had been a wise move. She still lived in the house, and it was worth almost four times what she’d paid for it.

  As Karen reflected on her childhood, the memories of the abuse had faded, but not the way she’d dealt with it. She couldn’t recall the sensation she’d felt when she’d plunged the knife into her father’s chest, but her feelings when Dane Edwards was convicted of murder would never leave her. She felt the same with each new kill. She would alter her appearance drastically and attend the trials, sketching the defendant and selling the drawing to the news outlets, but mostly to learn about the court procedures and the evidence offered by the prosecution and defence counsels. She’d picked up a few tips to improve her methods and evade detection, which meant she went into each new venture with increased confidence. What she was really there for, though, was the close of proceedings. Reading about the person she’d framed being arrested was a thrill in itself, but when the jury read out the guilty verdict, she felt a bolt of energy surge through her body.

  And it was time to prepare for the next one.

  Chapter 22

  Ryan didn’t know what Paul’s problem was, but his attitude suggested it was going to be a long and interesting day.

  Their first call that morning had been to collect money from a local layabout named Tom. It wasn’t a huge amount, just over a hundred pounds, but the moment Tom opened the door, Paul had gone flying in with his fists before the man had a chance to explain himself. Paul had left him in a bloody pile on the living room floor and gone through his pockets, finding the money he owed, before storming out of the house a couple of minutes after arriving.

  “What was that all about?” Ryan asked as he ran to keep up.<
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  Paul ignored him and got behind the wheel of the BMW. Ryan climbed in beside him.

  “So?”

  “So, what?” Paul said as he started the engine. The tires squealed as he raced away from the kerb.

  “What you just did to that guy. That wasn’t called for.”

  “Yes it was. He should have paid two days ago. He won’t be late again.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Paul sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve just got a load on my mind at the moment.”

  “Not another girl problem?” Ryan smiled, trying to ease the tension. Paul had a couple of girls on the go at any one time, and it was usually a juggling act to ensure the women never met each other.

  “No,” Paul said, still serious. “Marsh has set up a buy, but I don’t like it.”

  “How come?”

  Paul said nothing, and his face told Ryan he was trying to decide whether or not to open up. That had been the case for some time. Ryan was still doing nothing more than loan enforcement, while Paul would disappear for days at a time on Marsh’s bidding.

  “You might as well know,” Paul eventually said. “You’ll be coming with me anyway. We’ve got a buyer for three dozen AK-47s and ten thousand rounds. We’ll be doing the exchange in three days.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a problem,” Ryan said, but the confirmation that Marsh was into gun trafficking was huge. He finally had something to report to Brigshaw, and the fact that he was going to the meet meant he would be able to identify the other players.

  “It is when the buyer is an Islamic jihadist.”

  This was absolute gold, but Ryan hid his excitement. “And Marsh is happy to sell to them?”

  “As far as he’s concerned, if we don’t sell them the guns, someone else will. Might as well make a profit from them.”

  “What about you?” Ryan asked. “You comfortable with this?”

  “What do you think? I can’t believe anyone would sell arms to those bastards. I’d prefer to wait until they turn up and shoot the fucking lot of them, but Marsh wants this to go through. Sometimes you just can’t reason with him.”