Silas Nash book 1: Hush Hush Honeysuckle: Chapter 18 (a)

It was getting harder to keep a lid on things—stories leaked from the incident room every day, things that only the team had access to. Paranoia was rife. Nobody knew who was passing information to the press. The latest story gave vital information that Nash had wanted to keep closed. The tests proved that the woman found between Zoe Conley’s legs was Catherine Howard, who was also the woman who lived in the bedsit adjacent to Paige Hunter. The sick bastard had taken her to Zoe’s death scene to link her to Paige. It also showed that the top she was wearing belonged to Paige and had splashes of her blood on it. Internal Affairs was on the case and were monitoring every person going in and out of the incident room. Each member of the team had been interviewed and accused of selling intel to the press, which was denied by everybody. Morale was low. What Nash couldn’t understand was that the person was selective. Some of the most newsworthy and spectacular information wasn’t shared. Why would they take some details, enough to keep the press sniffing, and yet leave most of the really juicy stuff untouched?

The Florist Strikes Again. Girl Found in Bath of Coffee.

They released that but left the fact that she’d been dead for nearly a week. They didn’t mention that her head had been removed and left on the side of the bath. Or the fact that they’d had a suspect in custody for three days. The leak was taking just enough—but just enough for what?

All devices and note-taking materials were banned from the incident room, and a log-in sheet had to be signed at entry and exit. Only senior management—Lewis and Nash—were allowed to take anything home.

‘We need to throw the book at Max Jones, Boss. I know what I’d like to do to him,’ PC Bowes said. ‘And the person he’s working with.’

‘For the tape, the interview is resumed at 09:00 a.m.’

Seventy-two hours had passed, and they only had one more day to make a decision regarding Max.

Nash had already made up his mind. From the time they had him in custody, despite the killer escalating to record numbers in quick succession, there hadn’t been any more deaths or people reported missing. The three women had been dead for days, and the two boys had been killed long before they were found. Max could have killed them all, but he was in custody when the boys from last night were staged on return to their bedrooms.

Either Max was working with an accomplice, or he was innocent, and the real killer was still out there.

‘Tell us about the girl in Morecambe.’

‘What, girl? I can’t believe what’s happening to me. Why is somebody doing this? It was nothing, just a one-night shag that didn’t mean anything. I took her back to my camper. We had sex and said goodbye the next morning.’

‘You had sex with Paige Hunter?’

‘Paige Hunter? Paige is dead? No.’

There was no evidence of recent intercourse with the Hunter girl. It was information that hadn’t come to light during the autopsy when swabs were taken. Nash was surprised by the admission.

However, this victim meant more to him than he was admitting. Jones was on the verge of tears, and Nash pushed a box of tissues in front of him.

‘How? When? Oh, my God. This is my fault. I led him to her, didn’t I?’

If this was an act, he was bloody good. But then, psychopaths are masters of deception. ‘Paige Hunter’s death is important to you. Why is that?’

‘I had nothing to do with any of it.’

‘So, why her? How did you meet her?’

‘I didn’t meet her. She was just a barista in a coffee shop that I blundered into.’

‘But she matters enough to make you cry? That smacks of overkill.’

‘She seemed nice. I only saw her once. We never even spoke. Not really. But I liked her. She had so much life, you know?’

‘And you decided to take it from her?’

‘No. That came out wrong. What I mean is that she was so alive and seemed happy. It was as if she had more life in her soul than the rest of us. She served me a coffee—once. And that was it. I never saw her again.’

'We’ll come back to Miss Hunter. But when I said tell us about the girl in Morecambe, I meant Zoe Conley and, indeed, her friend Catherine Howard.’

‘Catherine Howard?’

‘That’s right. Talk.’

‘The name strikes me as ironic, that’s all.’

‘Ironic how?’

‘I die a queen but would rather die the wife of Culpepper.’

Nash bristled. ‘What the hell are you talking about, Jones? You want to be a queen? I have no idea what you’re saying.’

‘Catherine Howard was the fifth wife of Henry VIII. She was murdered too, and they were her dying words.’

‘What?’ Nash slammed his fist on the desk. ‘From the way Zoe and Catherine were staged, we reckon you don’t like lesbians, do you? They offend you.’

‘No, I’m not homophobic at all. I’m perfectly happy in my own skin. What about you, Inspector?’

‘I have no idea what you’re babbling on about, and as far as I know, Henry VIII isn’t responsible for these two girls being killed. This is a serious interview, and you’re going to smart-mouth yourself into nothing but more trouble. Stick to the facts and just answer the questions. Otherwise, I’ll take you back to your cell, and you can quote Wordsworth until your entitled, rich-boy heart’s content.’

‘Shakespeare, but near enough. Careful, Inspector. Your class discrimination is leaking into your interviewing technique.’ Max grinned at him, and Nash wanted to smash his smug face in.

‘Are you homophobic, Max?’ Molly Brown asked.

‘Sorry. Who? What? Why are you going on about gay stuff?’

‘We have evidence to suggest that Catherine Howard and or Zoe Conley may have been lesbians. Does this bother you?’

‘Not at all. I’ve had the company of lesbians more than once, if you get my drift. Only on a TV screen, though.’

‘Trust me. You wouldn’t appeal to many straight women, never mind gay ones,' she said, and Nash gave her a look.

‘I am sorry, Mr Jones. For the sake of the tape, I retract that comment.’

‘It always comes back to you, doesn’t it?’ Nash said. ‘Every time, every lead, every piece of evidence and witness statement. They all bring us right back to you. What do you know about Zoe Conley and Catherine Howard?’

‘Is Zoe dead too?’

‘Body number seven as they were found in chronological order.’

Max looked shocked. It was as though his fingers transferred the touch of death. Everybody he came into contact with was being killed around him. It was terrifying, and, if Jones was a superstitious man, Nash could forgive him for thinking that he was inflicting people with his own terrible condition.

‘Zoe was nice.’

‘Nice?’

‘Yeah, a good kid.’

‘Your DNA was all over her like a snail trail.’

‘She’s the one I meant before. The one I had sex with.’

‘And where was Catherine Howard while this was going on?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never met a Catherine.’

‘We found your semen in Zoe’s vaginal passage, and then she winds up dead?’

‘I told you we had sex. I’m not denying that. What am I being questioned about here? A murder, or the fact that I had a one-night stand with a girl I met in a bar. Has that never happened to you, inspector—a girl in a bar?’

Nash imagined standing and wrapping his hands around Jones’ neck. Suspects rarely got under his skin like this one.

Brown slid pictures of all three women across the desk, and Nash announced them for the tape.

Max looked shocked and turned his face away after a glance. ‘This is sick. The guy wants locking up in a straitjacket. A beach scene? It’s horrible.’

‘Actually, I think it was a dig at your camping. Keep talking.’ Nash noticed that he looked again and touched the photo of Paige in the bath of coffee and moved it away from the other two. ‘He cut her head off?’

‘Yes. How do you feel about that?’

‘Why is the water black? Is that blood?’

‘Coffee.’

‘Coffee. Why?’

‘You said you never went back to Paige’s place of work, but that’s not true, is it?’ Nash had his mind set, but he wanted a last-ditch attempt to get Max to slip up. He had to be certain. His gambit was to fire quick questions at him, swapping between all the victims to see if his story changed.

Jones shook his head.

‘Going back to Zoe Conley. We found a green cigarette lighter in your camper with her prints on it.’

‘I took her back to my van. We had sex. She left.’

‘And we found a screwed-up phone number on a scrap of paper at the scene where the bodies were found. That had your prints all over it. It turned out to be her phone number. How do you explain that?’

‘I took her back to my van. We had sex. She gave me her number. She left.’

‘You didn’t like this girl? You wanted to screw her up and throw her away like her number?’

‘Are you asking me or telling me? I liked Zoe, she was cool, but I didn’t want to marry her. You’ve got nothing on me except a load of circumstantial evidence that I have explained.’

‘Oh, there’s more, Mr Jones.’ Nash threw a phone in a clear evidence bag across the table and announced it for the tape. ‘Is this your phone?’

‘It looks like it, yes, but I’m sure they made several of that model.’

‘And still, you’re being smart. You look worried, Jones. Anything you want to confess?’

‘No.’

‘Passing item 43A to suspect. Photograph of Zoe Conley sleeping.’ Jones gasped and touched the photo.

‘This is an image extracted from your phone showing the seventh victim Zoe Conley asleep in what looks like a campervan bed. Did you take this photograph, Mr Jones?’

‘Yes.’

‘Make a habit of taking pictures of young women when they’re vulnerable, do you?’

‘No, I met her in a bar. I took her back to my van. We had sex. She left.’

‘You can see how it looks bad for you, though.’ Nash left the statement hanging, and Jones didn’t respond.

‘Isn’t it true that you recently called a potential client, quote, a “fake fascist faggot?” Unquote’

‘No. Never. That’s a lie. I called him a fake fascist fanny, but only because it was three words that began with F. I could just as easily have called him a crusty, cock-sucking cu—could we stop now?’

‘Here are three words for you, Jones. How does bang-to-rights sound?’

Max had his head in his hands. He was shaking and looked pale. ‘Are you okay? You look unwell.’

‘No, I’m fine. A touch of nausea, that’s all. It’ll pass in a minute.’

‘Are you okay to continue?’

‘Yes.’