Aftermath. Part 17

*Yes . . .' Ronald Malpa.s.s smiled at his wife. *Yes,' he said again as their eyes met. *Yes. Coffee. A coffee with you would be good. Very, very good . . . just once more before we set off.'

Sylvia Malpa.s.s returned to the house with a spring in her step; her husband by contrast, walked with a powerful determined heavy footfall across the sodden lawn to where the hose was attached to a tap set in the wall. He turned the tap off, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it down firmly, and then entered the house, wiping his feet on the mat as he did so.

Some moments later, Ronald and Sylvia Malpa.s.s sat in identical armchairs facing each other in a living room, which had been tidied to perfection, and the air in which was heavy with the smell of furniture polish and freshener. They each sipped coffees from cups which, like the armchairs, were identical.

*It tastes exquisite,' Ronald Malpa.s.s commented. *You know that I often say that the first cup of coffee in the morning is the most enjoyable cup of the whole day . . . the most enjoyable by far, but there is something refreshing about this cup of coffee. It is special somehow.'

*I know what you mean, darling. I thought that the garden had a certain freshness about its fragrance as I walked out there just now . . . something which I hadn't noticed before.'

*That is probably because I had watered it, doing that always releases the scents . . .'

*Yes, but even allowing for that . . . there was a definite something other . . . something now in the air.'

*Perhaps.' He sipped his coffee. *Perhaps, but it's possible because it is often like that before you go on a journey . . . you seem to have a heightened sense of awareness of your surroundings. It's a bit like saying goodbye to a house just before you shut the door behind you for the last time.'

*My mother used to do that.' Sylvia Malpa.s.s looked upwards as if recollecting memories. *I never have . . . I dare say I was always looking forward. My old dad, he used to say that she must be soft in the head to talk to empty houses, but he was a hard case. I take more after him than her . . . and I could never take to the other thing she always had us do a which was that before we left the house as a family, even if it was only for the day, we would sit and pause for a minute or two, and I mean just for sixty or one hundred and twenty seconds or some time in between, to collect ourselves as a family before going out. Even if there was a taxi waiting outside with the meter ticking, down we would sit . . . in silence . . . then we could leave the house as a family.'

Ronald Malpa.s.s pursed his lips. *You know, I quite like that . . . and you never told me that . . . not in all these years . . .'

*I didn't, did I . . . I just remembered it now for some reason. Probably because you never did that, paused before leaving the house, and I never wanted to do it anyway. I just left it behind in my childhood along with the dolls and tea sets.'

*But as I said . . . I quite like the sound of it. I could quite take to the practice.'

*Well, we can do it today if you wish. Especially before this journey, when we don't know where we are going.'

*Yes . . . just getting away from here . . . away from Hutton Cranswick and the Vale of York altogether.'

*How long do you think we have got?'

*Time yet.'

*But they're coming?'

*Oh yes . . . yes . . . they're coming. So long as we are well away by then. That is the main thing.'

*Yes. It's all done upstairs. All neat and shipshape and Bristol fashion . . . just as my Master commanded.'

*My Master . . .' Malpa.s.s smiled and drank the last of his coffee. *You haven't called me that for a long, long while.'

*My Master and Commander. I haven't, have I?'

*Yes, that was it . . . My Master and Commander.'

*I just stopped for some reason . . . I dare say that our marriage moved on as marriages tend to do . . . a continuously evolving process.'

*Dare say. . . . When did you first use it? Can you recall?'

*Oh . . . that would be in Ireland . . . I am sure it was during the Irish venture.'

*That was fun. You were like a coyote.'

*A coyote . . . a wild dog . . .' She raised her eyebrows. *What on earth do you mean?'

*In the mid west of the USA, so I once read, the coyotes who live outside small towns send a b.i.t.c.h on heat into the town . . . and dogs just cannot resist a b.i.t.c.h on heat, and those dogs who are not tethered or kept in doors will form a pack and follow the coyote . . . these are domesticated dogs, people's pets, and the b.i.t.c.h leads the pack of pet dogs out of the town where the other pack, the coyotes, are waiting. Carnage.'

*Wow . . . I'd like to see that!'

*So would I . . . What I'd give to be a bird in a tree looking down on that.'

*Yes . . . not just the bloodletting, but the anguish of the pet owners . . . all that guilt for not keeping their family pet safe. But we . . . I didn't attract a pack, just one at a time. Remember we called it the Black Widow game.'

*Yes. That was it.'

*The one with the black wig, and into the bar . . . sitting alone . . . grief stricken young widow . . . just lost her husband . . . allowed myself to get chatted up, and eventually asked if he knew a place where we could go because I have my needs . . . but somewhere close . . . they all did and it was guaranteed to be isolated . . . and you followed us . . . dressed in black with a black painted pickaxe handle. You know that's where we learned the value of changing the MO.'

*Yes . . . once semi-conscious from the pickaxe handle, we did the business . . . one got drain cleaning fluid down his throat . . . we left him choking his life away . . . that was a bit noisy . . . we were isolated enough . . . but I was worried by the racket he made . . . learned the value of silence there.'

*Yes. The old learning curve was steep in those days.'

*Another had a plastic bag pulled over his head; the third had his throat cut; the fourth had a knife shoved into his chest . . . picked up after ourselves . . . left nothing behind . . . no prints . . . nothing, and the gla.s.s you drank from in the bar would have been well washed and dried by the time each body was found.'

*Four of them . . . Dublin, across to Galway, then back via Cork and Waterford . . . well, not those places but little towns just outside them.'

*Never pulled that stunt in the UK.'

*Didn't, did we . . . that's because we hit on the idea of targeting alcoholics . . . but . . . Ireland . . .' Malpa.s.s smiled at the memory. *That was a pleasant little jaunt indeed. Most enjoyable. And that was a pleasant and enjoyable cup of coffee.'

*Thank you.'

*I'll go and fill up the car . . . check the oil.'

*And I'll wash up . . . leave everything just so.'

*Yes . . .' Ronald Malpa.s.s glanced at this watch. *Time is perhaps beginning to press a little . . . we must not leave it too late to make good our departure.'

*No . . .'

*So I'll leave the front garden unwatered. Get straight off when I return.'

*After sitting in silence for a minute or two?'

*Yes.' He held eye contact with her and nodded slowly. *Yes, we'll do that . . . we'll do that.'

Wednesday 10.50 hours Hennessey and Yellich sat in Hennessey's office in silence. Yellich glanced casually out of the small window towards the city walls and at the extended group of tourists thereon, who were enjoying a brief respite from the rain and also a period of sunlight created by a gap in the unseasonal cloud cover. Yellich watched as the tourists walked, having stretched into a linear group, ambling, looking to their left and right, bedecked with cameras, unlike the locals, who walk the walls singly, often with an air of hurried determination, staring straight ahead. Beyond the walls, over the rooftops, Yellich saw the upper parts of the three square towers of the Minster gleaming in the unexpected sunlight, with the heads of the tourists clearly seen atop the southern tower, all safely hemmed in with suicide-proof wire netting, despite the fact that no one in the thousand year history of the Minster has ever deliberately flung themselves from its height to their death. But this, Yellich reflected, was the early twenty-first century, and health and safety issues rule, as does fear of litigation, and the two, he saw as being interlinked. Yellich often thought, when beset with cynicism, that the issue was not so much the safety of the individual, but the safety of the organization concerned from legal action being raised against it. He turned his gaze to George Hennessey. *You're quiet, skipper,' he said, smiling.

*Yes, yes . . .' Hennessey replied, forcing a smile as he was pulled back to the here and now from deep and distant thoughts. *I was worried . . . confess I still am . . .'

*Worried, boss? Why . . .?' Yellich leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped together. *We'll lift them . . . there's nowhere they can go . . . even if they make a run for it they can't hide anywhere.'

*Yes, I know . . . I know . . . but it's not that . . . I don't think they will even attempt to run . . . it's not that at all . . . I am worried about the number of victims that they have taken . . . the old tip of iceberg . . . there's always more than we know . . .'

*Yes . . . for sure . . .'

*So, just as more people went into Cromwell Street in Gloucester than have been determined, just as the Yorkshire Ripper would likely have taken more victims that the thirteen he was prosecuted for, even if they were not all fatally injured, and just as Hindley and Brady were in all possibility linked to the disappearance of other children who went missing at the time, but outside the Greater Manchester area . . . so they were not seen as relevant . . .'

*You think that's a possibility, sir?'

*Yes. Why not . . . they had transport . . . they could have got up to Newcastle or Glasgow very easily . . . come to this neck of the woods or through to Hull . . . down to Birmingham . . . but children from those areas who disappeared were not linked to them because at the time Greater Manchester Police were not looking outside their administrative area . . . but now we know serial killers roam far and wide.'

*See what you mean, boss.'

*It's not the tip of the iceberg in that I am sure we know of the substantial number of the Malpa.s.s's victims . . . but there's always one or two or three more . . . and that's one or two or three victims who won't get justice . . . or one or two or three families that won't get closure.'

*We still have to chat to them, boss . . . they might confess to others.'

*Yes . . . yes.' Hennessey nodded. *Good point . . . they might tell us more than we already know. Might. I still feel that we have to hope that one turns on the other . . . but if they both go N.G., as my son would say, then the CPS still has an uphill battle. Being photographed standing over the grave of a victim, Hindley-like, is not proof of murder a not in itself a and, yes, we have the other photographs, and, yes, we have witness statements, but a defence counsel with fire in his belly could make a jury reluctant to convict. In Scotland it could even invite a "not proven" verdict.'

*Yes . . . I see your concern, sir.'

*When this case comes to court it will be the trial of the most prolific pair of serial killers ever known in the UK . . . but, like I said yesterday, unless one rolls over on the other it's going to be a similar case to Regina versus Allit . . . a case wherein the acc.u.mulation of circ.u.mstantial evidence becomes sufficient to convict . . . being the most difficult to prosecute and being the easiest to defend. But as you say . . . we have still to chat with them.'

The phone on Hennessey's desk warbled. He let it ring twice before picking it up. *Hennessey . . .' he said, then fell silent as he listened. *All right. Thank you. We'll be there directly.' He glanced at Yellich. *They're ready now . . . vans . . . sergeant . . . four constables, scene of crime officers . . . just requires you and me to make up the arrest squad.'

George Hennessey strode determinedly up the drive of the Malpa.s.s's home in Hutton Cranswick. Yellich strode equally determinedly behind him, and following Yellich was a uniformed sergeant and two male and two female constables. Hennessey struck the front door of the house thrice with his open palm and shouted, *Police! Open the door.' He then rang the door bell continuously, insistently.

There was no reply. There was no sound, nor any form of response from within. Hennessey turned and noticed a youthful tee shirt wearing couple stop and stare at the activity from the other side of the street. Beyond the couple were neatly kept houses, and beyond that, flat fields leading to a flat skyline, all under a grey, short-lived, cloudy sky. He found a brief moment to concede that police activity of that nature was not an everyday occurrence in Hutton Cranswick. He turned to Yellich. *Take a constable and go round the back, please.' He banged on the door again. There was still no response. Hennessey stepped back from the door and nodded to the constable holding the ram. *Put it in,' he said quietly.

The police constable stepped forwards swinging the ram backwards as he did so, and when close to the door swung it forwards as close to the lock as he could manage, and succeeded in bursting the door open at the first attempt. He stepped back allowing Hennessey and the sergeant and the three remaining constables to enter the house. Hennessey leading the way shouted, *Police . . . police!'

The interior of the house was still and quiet. The house was, he saw, neatly kept with just a gentle whiff of air freshener mingled with the soft odour of furniture polish.

*Right,' Hennessey turned to the constables, *search the house . . . every cupboard . . . every loft s.p.a.ce . . . everywhere a human body can be concealed . . . you know the drill.' Then he walked from the hallway to the kitchen and unlocked the back door using the key that had been conveniently allowed to remain in the lock.

*Flown the coop, boss?' Yellich entered the house followed by the constable, youthful, fresh-faced, white shirt, dark blue trousers.

*No . . . no . . .' Hennessey turned and walked back towards the hallway, *no, they're here somewhere . . . they will not be running. It's over for them; I know that they know that.' He paused. *Find them and then search the house for the evidence we'll need to convict them . . .'

*House is empty, sir.' The sergeant descended the stairs. *We're checking the loft now but it's clearly empty. We checked everywhere . . . under beds . . . cupboards . . . no one here . . . just us.'

*Outbuildings!' Hennessey snapped, *Check the outbuildings.'

The sergeant turned and shouted to the constables. *Down here . . . check the garden shed . . . and the garage.'

Hennessey and Yellich stepped out of the hallway and into the living room of the house to allow the uniformed officers to pa.s.s.

Hennessey turned to Yellich. *They can't have gone . . . they can't have!'

Moments later . . . perhaps less than sixty seconds later, the sergeant returned in a solemn looking att.i.tude and looked at Hennessey. *We've found something, sir.' He turned and led Hennessey and Yellich to the garage which stood beside the house, separated from it by a narrow concrete path. The door to allow a person ingress and egress to the garage was open . . . a constable stood beside it . . . the other constables stood behind him on the path. The sergeant turned and said, *In the garage, sirs.'

Hennessey and Yellich entered the garage and saw first the gleaming coffee coloured saloon car owned by the Malpa.s.ses, within which Ronald and Sylvia Malpa.s.s, sitting as if asleep, he in the driver's seat, and she beside him in the front pa.s.senger seat, and holding each other's hand. A hose led from the cars exhaust to the interior of the car via a partially open rear window.

*We checked for life, sir,' the sergeant informed. *Both appear deceased . . . no pulse and their skin is clammy to the touch.'

*Thank you, sergeant,' Hennessey mumbled. *Thank you.'

A silence descended upon the scene broken by Hennessey who said, *You know, I feel cheated.'

*Cheated, sir?' Yellich replied.

*Yes . . . they won . . . they won. Neither of them could have survived gaol and they knew that . . . not after their lifestyle, and they would have also known that for them it would have been life without the possibility of parole. We'll never know how many victims they had . . . the nine women in the gardens at Bromyards plus the tramps they left buried . . . or exposed . . . all over the UK . . . those that we know about. We got involved in it when it was all over, when they had already decided to quit on their own terms and escape justice . . . even if the price they were prepared to pay was the loss of their own lives . . . but they escaped justice. So, yes, I feel cheated . . . and their victims also . . . they were cheated out of justice.'

The man lay in bed looking at the woman who stood naked at the window, and who, in turn, was watching the sun sink over the c.u.mbrian fells, causing the autumn trees to glow like shimmering golden orbs. He savoured her slenderness, the soft curve of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the well-toned muscles, caused, he knew, by her pa.s.sion for equestrianism. *I should have known better.' He lay back and looked up at the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling painted in pale blue to blend with the slightly darker blue of the wallpaper, which blended with the yet darker blue of the carpet.

*You couldn't have done anything else,' the woman half-turned and smiled at him. *You had to wait until you had sufficient to justify an arrest warrant.'

*I still think I could have moved earlier, I just didn't think I was under time pressure once Dr Joseph told me she also felt they had stopped killing. I thought I had all the time in the world . . . and they won . . . they played the game they had planned to play and we'll never know for how many years they played it.'

*Or how many victims.'

*Yes, just silently took victims that few, if anybody, would miss and buried them locally, or left them to be discovered in remote places all over the UK, leaving local forces to do the naming and burying number, and not one was linked with another.'

*There was no reason why they should be linked, down-and-outs are always being found where they died . . . even in the twenty-first century, that is just the way of it.' She stretched her arms, *This sun feels good. It'll be getting quite chilly outside, but behind the window, warmth comes through.'

*Yes . . . then, like all serial killers, they racked up the game and took victims who'd be missed. It was probably their way of bringing an end to it all . . . then we called on them.'

*By which they knew it would only be a matter of time before you closed down on them you mean?'

*Yes, that's exactly what I do mean,' the man levered himself out of bed, *so they killed their gofer and then sat in their car in the garage with the engine running, holding hands as they drifted into their final sleep. Dare say they won in a sense, did what they intended to do without ever seeing the inside of a police station, let alone a prison.'

*Well,' the woman smiled at the man, *all you can do is chalk it up to experience. Let's dress, I'm getting hungry.'

*Agreed.' Hennessey stood, reaching for a towel as he walked towards the bathroom. *Something in the bar, then we'll eat. I think I'll try the duck myself tonight . . . confess it looked to be quite good.'

Louise D'Acre turned to take one last look at the setting sun, *It was,' she said warmly. *It was very good indeed.'

Recent t.i.tles by Peter Turnbull from Severn House.

The Hennessey and Yellich Series.

AFTER THE FLOOD.

AFTERMATH.

ALL ROADS LEADETH.