THE CHRISTMAS KILLER
Alex Pine

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover design by Caroline Young © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover photographs © Piotr Marcinski/Arcangel Images (snowy landscape in globe), Laura Kate Bradley/Arcangel Images (running figure), Shutterstock.com (all other images)

Alex Pine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008402648

Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008402655

Version: 2020-09-08

Dedication

To the latest additions to the family – Peyton Scott and Luna Raven. Wishing them both a long and happy life.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue: September

Chapter One: Friday December 16th

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen: Sunday December 18th

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Monday December 19th

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five: Tuesday December 20th

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Wednesday December 21st

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Thursday December 22nd

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three: Friday December 23rd

Epilogue: Saturday December 24th

Acknowledgement

Keep Reading …

About the Author

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE
September

It was 6 p.m. when Annie Walker heard her husband’s car pull onto the driveway of their terraced house in Tottenham.

Moments later, he closed the front door behind him and called out to let her know that he was home.

She stayed where she was on the sofa, her heart pounding in her chest. She’d been bracing herself for bad news since he’d texted to tell her what was happening. That was three hours ago though, and the long wait had caused her stomach to twist into an anxious knot.

She held her breath now as he opened the door and entered the living room.

‘Hi, hon,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get away any sooner.’

Annie was struck by how rough he looked. His eyes were glassy with exhaustion and his dark hair was greasy and dishevelled.

‘Just tell me what happened?’ she said.

James crossed the room and sat down beside her on the sofa.

‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid, Annie,’ he said. ‘The bastard has been released.’

Annie closed her eyes. It felt like her heart had stopped beating. James put an arm around her and pulled her close. It made her feel better, but only slightly. It was going to take much more than a hug to repel the nagging sense of dread that was growing inside her.

‘This is a bloody nightmare,’ she said. ‘I thought the bastard was tucked safely away for at least ten years.’

James shook his head. ‘It’s hard to believe he’s got away with it. The trouble is, we haven’t been able to disprove what the other guy is saying.’

‘So that’s it then? He’s free again and able to do whatever he wants to.’

‘That’s right,’ James said. ‘But you have to try not to worry.’

‘That’s not going to happen and you know it.’

James switched his gaze from his wife to the half-empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table in front of her.

‘I need some of that after the day I’ve had,’ he said. ‘Let me grab a glass and we can talk this through.’

‘Has the news broken yet?’ Annie asked him.

He nodded as he stood. ‘Of course. I’m sure the media’s all over it.’

‘Then can you switch the telly on?’

He did as she asked and used the remote to go straight to the BBC news channel. The story was being aired right then, and the newsreader’s words sent a chill through Annie’s veins.

‘Fifty-eight-year-old Andrew Sullivan has served thirteen months of a life sentence for murder. Though he’s always denied killing nightclub owner Brendon Fox, he was convicted by a jury even though Mr Fox’s body had still not been found by the time the case went to trial.

‘Three days ago, however, Mr Fox’s body was found, the location revealed to police by a man who has confessed to the murder. As a result, a judge has ruled that Mr Sullivan, who was described during his trial as the head of an organised crime gang in London, should be released, and earlier this afternoon he walked out of Belmarsh Prison a free man. Scotland Yard has confirmed that another man in his fifties has been formally charged with Mr Fox’s murder. His identity has not yet been disclosed.’

Andrew Sullivan was one of the main reasons Annie had been so desperate to move out of London. When he was sent down it was like a huge weight being lifted from her shoulders.

The newsreader moved on to talking about Sullivan’s chequered past, his photograph displayed over the reporter’s shoulder. He looked every inch the archetypal villain, a bald, hard-faced individual with a long scar down his right cheek.

James first came across Sullivan while working with the National Crime Agency on a secondment. He spent several years trying to disrupt Sullivan’s illicit activities, but had failed to bring him down. In the process he made an enemy of the man, and received several death threats as a result. Then, two years ago, James had moved to Scotland Yard as a detective inspector with the Murder Investigation Team, and was eventually assigned to the Brendon Fox case.

Sullivan had fallen out with Fox after the night club owner banned him from entering his establishment. When their paths crossed early one evening at a pub in Wood Green, they ended up having a fist fight, after which Sullivan was overheard threatening to kill Fox.

In the early hours of the following morning Fox disappeared in suspicious circumstances after leaving his club. His car was abandoned at the roadside with the door open.

Soon afterwards, police unearthed traffic camera footage of Sullivan’s van driving past the club half an hour before Fox left the premises. Sullivan was arrested and Fox’s blood was found on his shirt. His defence was that the blood had got there during the punch up in the pub. And he claimed he was driving home from a night out when the traffic camera picked up his van near the club.

It was James who charged Andrew Sullivan with murder, after convincing the Crown Prosecution Service to make the arrest despite the absence of a corpse. Then, much to the delight of everyone on James’s team, the jury rejected Sullivan’s not guilty plea.

But five days ago the case was reopened, and Sullivan’s guilt put into question, when a prolific violent offender named Raymond Lynch confessed to killing Fox the night he vanished. He claimed he’d tried to rob the club owner as he was getting into his car. When Fox resisted, he stabbed him in the chest. He said he feared that he might have left traces of blood or DNA on his victim, so he put him into his car boot and drove to woods in Kent where he dumped the body.

Lynch had nothing to lose by confessing to a crime that James did not believe he committed. After all, he was already in prison serving a minimum of thirty years for beating to death a teenage girl in the weeks following Fox’s murder. And at the age of fifty-five, it was unlikely he would ever be released. So James and his team were convinced that the Sullivan family had persuaded Lynch to confess to killing Fox, likely in exchange for protection on the inside.

James returned from the kitchen with a glass and filled it with red wine after topping up Annie’s. He’d removed his suit jacket and shoes, and when he spoke his voice was stretched thin with tension.

‘You shouldn’t work yourself up into a frenzy over this, Annie,’ he said. ‘I honestly don’t think Sullivan poses a serious threat to us. He won’t want to put at risk his newly won freedom.’

‘But you can’t be sure of that,’ Annie replied. ‘We both know the man’s a psycho, and he hates your guts. You’ve said yourself he’s probably killed more than a few people over the years, and I don’t want you to become one of his victims. But I’ve told you so many times that it’s not just about him. I don’t feel safe here any more. The streets are full of knife-wielding nutters. The traffic is unbearable, and so is the noise. I’m stressed out most of the time, which could be why I haven’t conceived. And if we do eventually get lucky, this is not where I want to raise a child.’

James let out a breath. He’d heard it all before, and the issue had put a strain on their relationship. Annie’s mother had died eighteen months ago, leaving her the four-bedroomed family home in Cumbria, and since then Annie had been trying to talk James into moving out of London.

Of course, he had given it serious consideration, even to the point of discussing with her the possibility of joining the Cumbrian force and basing himself in Kendal, which was only about twenty-five miles from the cottage in the village of Kirkby Abbey. But James enjoyed working for the Met and, at thirty-nine, was still climbing the career ladder. It didn’t help that his extended family – with whom he was close – all lived in North London.

Annie didn’t have any strong ties to the capital. Both her parents were dead and she had no siblings, her only relative an uncle who lived in Penrith. And as a supply teacher she could work anywhere – including the small primary school in Kirkby Abbey.

As the evening wore on, James tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, but Annie was having none of it. She continued to express her fears as they got through another bottle of wine and a couple of ready meals heated up in the microwave.

It was 10 p.m. when she finally decided to call it a day. Tired and frustrated, she stood and announced that she was going to bed.

James hauled himself to his feet and started to help her clear the coffee table. But they didn’t get to finish the job because at that moment a large object came crashing through the living room window.

Annie screamed as they were both showered with shards of glass.

The object – a brick – smashed into the side of the TV before landing with a thud on the carpet.

James instinctively stepped between Annie and the broken window as they both stared out into their small front garden.

‘Who’s out there?’ Annie yelled. ‘Can you see anyone?’

‘It’s too dark,’ James shouted back. ‘Stay here while I go and check.’

Fear spiralled through Annie as James rushed out of the room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the brick on the floor and she noticed that there was a sheet of paper attached to it by elastic bands. Her hands shook violently as she reached down to pick it up and read the note.

I don’t forgive and forget. This is just a taste of what’s to come.

James returned a few minutes later to say that whoever had thrown the brick had disappeared, which came as no surprise to Annie.

She handed him the note and watched the panic seize his features as he read it.

‘I’m willing to bet it’s a message from Sullivan,’ she said tearfully. ‘And if that doesn’t convince you that we should move away from here, then I don’t know what will.’

CHAPTER ONE
Friday December 16th

According to the Met Office, it was going to be a white, blustery Christmas. The forecast was for severe blizzards across much of the UK, and those people living in northern counties were being warned to brace themselves for the worst of the weather. It was even likely that some towns and villages would find themselves cut off.

The prospect of being snowed in filled James Walker with dread. He wasn’t used to dealing with impassable roads and momentous drifts that brought life to a standstill.

In London, things carried on virtually as normal however bad the weather. But now he was living in Cumbria and this would be his first Christmas away from the capital. He was pretty sure it was going to be very different.

He and Annie had made the move seven weeks ago and he was still struggling to adjust. The pace of life was so much slower and he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it.

Barely a month had passed since he’d started his new job as a detective inspector with the Cumbria Constabulary, based in the market town of Kendal, and he was already bored. He was missing the buzz of the Met, the big cases, the rush of adrenaline that he felt speeding to the scene of another major crime.

The cases that had come his way since the transfer included two burglaries, a domestic violence incident on a remote farm and an act of vandalism against a village pub. A far cry from the murder and mayhem that had kept him busy during almost twenty years working in the capital.

He wasn’t blaming Annie, though. Remaining in London had simply become too risky after the brick was thrown through their living room window. His wife was lucky not to have been injured, and it had forced him to concede that the threat was one he couldn’t ignore. He had to think of Annie and his family – his parents, brother, two sisters, and a bunch of nephews and nieces.

He still couldn’t be sure who was behind the attack. There had been no forensic evidence on the brick or the note that was attached to it. Naturally, Andrew Sullivan had denied responsibility when questioned, and he had a cast-iron alibi. But he could have got one of his gang members to do it for him, as revenge against James for the thirteen months Sullivan had spent behind bars before his unexpected release.

James looked across the open plan office from behind the desk that had been allocated to him. It was almost five o’clock on Friday December 16th, and most of the team had already departed for the weekend. No doubt some would be Christmas shopping, while others busied themselves with preparations for the big day.

He left all that stuff to Annie, as she’d always enjoyed buying presents and organising things. This year she had made it extra hard for herself. As well as all the effort she was putting into renovating the house, she’d invited James’s entire family to stay with them from Christmas Eve until after Boxing Day.

James had breathed a sigh of relief when he’d learned that only nine of them, including three children, were coming. It meant they could be put up in the three spare bedrooms, while Annie’s uncle, Bill Cardwell, used the fold-down camp bed in the study.

Annie hadn’t seen Bill since her mother’s funeral, when they’d had a bitter row over the fact that the house that he and his sister had grown up in had been left to Annie. He’d stormed out of the wake, claiming it wasn’t fair and demanding that she sell the property and give him half the proceeds. But Annie had refused because her mother had stipulated in her will that Annie should keep it so that she could pass it on to her own children when, God willing, she eventually had them.

Annie was now determined to get back on speaking terms with her uncle, hoping her return to Cumbria would be a new beginning for both of them.

‘I’m surprised you’re still here, guv. There’s fuck all going on.’

It was the grating voice of DS Phil Stevens that interrupted James’s thoughts. The overweight detective was the only member of the team who had made him feel unwelcome. This was apparently because Stevens’s promotion to detective inspector had been put on hold as a result of James’s arrival.

He was also clearly jealous of the new DI’s years of experience with the Met and NCA, rolling his eyes whenever James mentioned London.

‘I was just about to wrap things up and go,’ James said. ‘What about you?’

Stevens shrugged. ‘I’m here till late and that suits me just fine. The in-laws are coming over for a pre-Christmas visit and they’re not my favourite people.’

With perfect timing, James’s mobile phone rang, providing him with an excuse not to continue the conversation.

He picked it up from his desk, glanced at the caller ID, then smiled at Stevens.

‘It’s the wife,’ he said. ‘I’d better take it.’

James answered the phone as he watched his colleague turn and walk across the room towards his own desk.

‘Hi, hon,’ James said. ‘I’ll be heading home soon if that’s what you’re ringing to find out.’

‘It’s not, actually,’ Annie said. ‘I forgot to mention that the school nativity play is taking place this evening and I’m here now helping out. It means I most likely won’t be in when you get home.’

‘No problem. How has your day been?’

‘Good. I managed to clear all the junk from the bedrooms before I popped over to Janet Dyer’s house for lunch and a catch up.’

‘Isn’t she the one you used to be friends with at school?’

‘That’s right. She’s a great source of information for me because she knows the whats and wheres that I’ve missed since I’ve been away. She does have a tendency to get caught up in the village drama, though, and some people think she’s too loud and opinionated, but she’s helped me through some tough times in the past, and she’s a softie at heart.’

‘She sounds interesting,’ James said.

‘She is. Actually, I’m thinking about inviting her over tomorrow for a cuppa. I want to show her what we’re doing to the house and also give her some distraction. She’s a single mum and her ex-husband is picking her two boys up in the morning and taking them to spend Christmas with him and his new partner in Carlisle.’

‘Then I look forward to meeting her.’

‘I’m sure you’ll like her,’ Annie said. ‘Meanwhile, you drive carefully coming home. I’ve made a cottage pie for you and it’s ready to be put straight in the oven.’

‘Terrific. Love you lots and see you later.’

‘You too, sweetheart.’

One thing James didn’t miss about London was the traffic. Driving in the capital was a nightmare, and many streets seemed to be in a permanent state of gridlock.

By comparison, getting from Kendal to Kirkby Abbey was a breeze. He headed east along the A684, crossed over the M6, and then north up the A683.

The roads took him through some of the UK’s most beautiful countryside, lying between the Lake District and Yorkshire Dales National Parks. Of course, at this time of night he couldn’t see much, as the darkness stretched into the distance on both sides.

It was just after six when he arrived at the village, one of the smallest in the area with a population of just over seven hundred.

He drove past the small Catholic church and The White Hart pub, and turned left at the village store. He then skirted the small square where they held the monthly Saturday farmers’ market, and passed through the residential area that was crammed with quaint, stone-built houses.

Their detached home was a short walk from the tiny primary school where Annie worked and had a driveway and a paved front garden. There were other detached houses either side, and across the road was a gated entrance to a field that offered stunning views of the distant peaks.

James parked up and saw that Annie had left the lights on in their two-storey house. As he climbed out of his Audi, he was once again struck by how quiet the place was. It was another aspect of life here in Cumbria that he still hadn’t yet got used to.

He was approaching the front door when he noticed that a parcel had been left on the step. It was about the size of a shoebox and wrapped in Christmas paper.

His first thought as he picked it up was that it had been put there by one of the neighbours. But as he let himself inside, it struck him as odd that on the label that was stuck to it there were just three words written with a black marker:

FOR DETECTIVE WALKER

He took the parcel through to the kitchen and placed it on the table. Curiosity compelled him to open it before doing anything else.

He tore off the wrapping and lifted the lid of the cardboard box. What was inside gave him such a shock that an involuntary gasp erupted from his mouth and he jumped back in horror. In the process, his hand struck the edge of the box and knocked it onto the floor.

A wave of revulsion swept through him as he stared down at the object that rolled out. It was a large, blood-soaked bird that was clearly dead.

James tried to swallow but couldn’t, and for several moments he just stood there while a pulse thundered in his temples.

He noticed that the bottom of the box was lined with clingfilm, presumably to hold in the blood.

‘Why the fuck would someone do this?’ he said aloud to himself.

After the shock wore off, he took a deep breath and knelt down to see if there was anything else in the upended box. But there wasn’t. However, when he stood again he spotted something attached by Sellotape to the underside of the lid. It was a Christmas card wrapped in clingfilm, and on the front of it were images from the carol The Twelve Days of Christmas.

James always carried a pair of latex gloves in his jacket pocket, so he put them on before reaching for the card, aware that he should have done so before opening the box in the first place.

He used the tips of his fingers to peel away the Sellotape and flick the card open. There was no seasonal greeting printed inside. Instead, someone had scrawled a message that caused the air to lock in James’s chest.

Here’s a Christmas gift for you, detective Walker. It’s a little early, I know, but I just couldn’t wait. My very own take on the twelve days of Christmas, complete with a dead partridge. Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

CHAPTER TWO

Annie was struggling to hold back the tears, and her insides were churning with mixed emotions. But she wasn’t at all surprised. It was how she usually reacted when she watched a primary school nativity play.

She loved seeing Mary drop baby Jesus, the narrator stumble over his or her words, and the angels giggle amongst themselves because they had no real understanding of what was going on. It was all so touching and hilarious.

But along with the joy there was always a sense of despondency and regret because none of the children on the little stage belonged to her.

The audience began to applaud as the cast rounded off their performance with a stilted rendition of Silent Night. Annie felt a jolt of jealousy when the parents started to cheer and wave, their faces glowing with obvious pride. One day, she told herself. One day I’ll be sitting amongst them instead of here on the side lines with the other teachers.

‘Are you all right, Annie? You look as though you might be about to cry.’

Annie turned to the woman sitting to her right and forced a smile.

‘I was just thinking back to when I played the part of Mary on this very stage,’ she fibbed. ‘I can’t believe it was thirty odd years ago.’

Lorna Manning smiled back. ‘I wish I’d been here then. It must have been a lot different with at least twice as many pupils and parents.’

Like many other small rural schools across the country, Kirkby Abbey Primary School was under threat because of falling pupil numbers and budget cuts. With only twenty-two children now enrolled, the council was considering closing the school, but Lorna – headmistress for the past ten years – was campaigning hard to keep it open.

If and when it did close, parents would have to transport their kids to the nearest other school, which was some fifteen miles away. It was one of the very few negatives that came with the move back to Cumbria but, as far as Annie was concerned, they were far outweighed by the positives.

She hung around as Lorna stepped up onto the stage to praise the children and thank all those who had come to see the show, especially the villagers who’d turned up to offer their support even though they weren’t parents. After that, everyone gathered in the reception area while the hall was cleared and the children got changed.

Annie hadn’t expected to get involved with school activities so soon after arriving in the village. But a staff shortage had prompted Lorna to offer her some part-time work as soon as she expressed an interest. And that suited Annie perfectly, because it meant she could divide her time between shifts at the school and renovating the house.

This was the first time since the move that she had been in the company of so many people. Some she recognised from before she left the village and moved to London thirteen years ago, others she’d met during the visits to her mother following her father’s death. But a good many of those around her she’d never seen before and she was keen to make their acquaintance.

A table had been laid with free soft drinks, mulled wine and mince pies. Annie positioned herself next to it so that she could explain to people what was on offer and introduce herself to those she didn’t know. But the first person to approach the table was Janet Dyer – her twin sons had played shepherds in the play.

‘A cracking show as always,’ Janet said, helping herself to a wine. ‘Just the right mix of chaos and confusion. I loved every minute.’

Annie laughed. ‘The twins were adorable, Janet. You must be so proud of them.’

Janet nodded. ‘I am. And I intend to do everything I can to make sure they don’t turn out to be like their shitty excuse for a father.’

It was three years since Janet’s husband Edward had left her for another woman. Annie had seen her a couple of times since then and had talked to her frequently on the phone. In the beginning, Janet had found it hard to cope and had confessed to being lonely. But eventually she had started to embrace being single again.

She was a short, thin woman, with a placid face and neat, shoulder-length, fair hair, who worked as a carer for elderly people living in Kirkby Abbey and the surrounding villages.

Annie was about to ask her what time Edward was picking the twins up in the morning, but Janet spoke first.

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ she said. ‘Here comes trouble.’

She was staring at a man and woman who were walking towards them after exiting the hall. Annie recognised them immediately and felt a stab of apprehension.

Charlie and Sonia Jenkins ran The White Hart pub and they were by far the most striking couple in the village. She was slim and in her late thirties, but looked much younger. Her husband, who Annie herself had actually had a crush on in school, was a dead ringer for Michael Bublé. The pair had been together since Sonia fell pregnant with their daughter, Maddie, at the age of seventeen.

Sonia reached them first, and she had a face like thunder.

‘I want to ask you a question,’ she said, spitting her words at Janet and filling the air between them with the smell of alcohol.

Charlie quickly came up behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders.

‘I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t make a scene here,’ he said.

‘That was before I saw her looking at you in the hall,’ Sonia replied. ‘I could tell what she was thinking.’

‘Really?’ Janet said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Are you able to read minds when you’re drunk then?’

Sonia clenched her jaw. ‘How dare you say that? I’m not drunk.’

Janet tutted loudly. ‘You could have fooled me, Sonia.’

Annie could barely believe what was happening. The Christmas spirit that had prevailed only moments ago was shattered as the two women glared at one another.

Charlie put an arm around his wife and tried to move her away, but she refused to budge.

‘I’m not going anywhere until I’ve heard what she’s got to say for herself,’ Sonia said.

Janet responded by rolling her eyes. ‘Then get to the point, for pity’s sake. What is it you want to ask me?’

Annie was tempted to intervene, but didn’t dare for fear of inflaming the situation. Most of the other people in the room were still oblivious to what was going on and she didn’t want that to change.

Sonia lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and said, ‘I want to know if it’s true that you’ve been having an affair with my husband.’

Janet pulled a face. ‘No, it bloody well isn’t. Where the hell did you get that idea?’

‘You told one of the elderly folks you visit in the village,’ Sonia said. ‘He told someone who mentioned it to someone else and this morning it was passed on to me.’

‘Well it’s total rubbish,’ Janet insisted. ‘I don’t sleep with married men. Surely he’s told you it didn’t happen.’

‘Until I was blue in the face,’ Charlie said, clearly embarrassed. Then to his wife: ‘Look, Sonia, it’s either a malicious rumour or a huge misunderstanding. But whatever you think, this is not the place to talk about it.’

Sonia’s face changed in an instant, as though she was coming out of a trance. She sucked in a shaky breath and started to speak, but the words tumbled out as wet sobs.

‘Let me get you home,’ Charlie said, and this time when he ushered her towards the door, she didn’t resist.

After watching them go, Janet turned to Annie and said, ‘I can’t believe that just happened.’

Annie shook her head. ‘Me neither. Are you all right?’

‘I will be once I’ve calmed down.’

Annie noticed that she was shaking and her face had paled.

‘Is there any truth in what Sonia claimed?’ Annie asked.

‘Of course not,’ Janet replied. ‘You heard what I told her. I reckon someone is out to make mischief.’

She reached for another glass of wine and downed it in one go.

‘I’d better go and find the twins,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s okay.’

‘That’ll be great. You take care.’

Annie was relieved that the altercation hadn’t spiralled out of control. But it had unsettled her.

She kept her feelings to herself as she bid a fond farewell to the children and their families, then helped Lorna and the other teachers to clean up.

It was eight o’clock when she left the school and headed home. She forced herself not to think about what had happened, but she was in no doubt that it would be one of the topics of conversation when Janet came to the house tomorrow.

It was a beautiful Cumbrian night, the sky crammed with an array of bright stars. Annie’s hooded parka kept the cold at bay as she walked along the narrow streets, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t about to be mugged, stabbed or confronted by Andrew Sullivan.

She found comfort in the fact that it was very rare for something really bad to happen in a place like Kirkby Abbey.

CHAPTER THREE

Almost two hours had passed since James had unwrapped the parcel with the dead partridge inside. The repulsive ‘gift’ and the card that had come with it were still causing his mind to race in all directions.

He just wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it a genuine threat or someone’s idea of a sick joke?

It was troubling to think that so much thought and effort must have gone into it. The sender had either killed a bird or found a dead one, then stuffed it into the box with the card, before leaving it on the doorstep. It was strange, reckless, shocking and sinister. It couldn’t be ignored.

James had already called it in and had taken photos of the partridge and the handwritten message, which he’d sent to his superior. A patrol car was due to arrive at any minute to pick the bagged parcel up and take it to the forensic lab so it could be analysed for prints, DNA and any other trace evidence that might offer a clue as to who was responsible.

The house to the left was empty, as usual, because the owners lived in Manchester and stayed there only occasionally. The property to the right was occupied by retired couple Roy and Jennifer Gray. James had just returned from asking them if they’d seen any cars parked out front this evening or noticed anyone carrying a parcel. But they hadn’t because they’d been too busy watching television.

If this had been London or any other major city there’d be a good chance that CCTV cameras could be used to help solve the mystery. But there weren’t any in Kirkby Abbey, which was not at all unusual for such a small village.

The questions were piling up inside James’s head as he sat at the breakfast bar with his hands wrapped round a mug of steaming coffee.

How long had the parcel been lying on the doorstep? Was it put there soon after Annie left the house to go and help out with the school nativity play? If so, was it possible that she’d seen the person who’d left it?

He checked his watch again and wondered when his wife would arrive home. The play must surely have finished by now, but he supposed it was possible she was still helping to clean up or that she had gone for a drink with some of the other school staff at one of the pubs in the village.

He reached for his phone and brought up the photo of the message in the card.

Here’s a Christmas gift for you, detective Walker. It’s a little early, I know, but I just couldn’t wait. My very own take on the twelve days of Christmas, complete with a dead partridge. Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

His boss, Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Tanner, had asked James if he could think of anyone who might have embarked on a cruel mission to ruin his Christmas.

‘It would have to be someone with a twisted fucking mind and a serious grudge against you,’ Tanner had said.

There was one person who fit that description, of course.

Andrew Sullivan.

Annie arrived home just as the patrol officer was placing the bin bag containing the parcel in the boot of his marked BMW.

James watched her approach and cursed under his breath because he wished he didn’t have to tell her what was going on. But he had no choice for two reasons. Firstly, he wasn’t prepared to tell an outright lie when she asked him. And secondly, he needed to know if she had any idea who might have done it.

‘Is everything all right?’ Annie asked when she reached him, her breath steaming in the cold evening air.

James flicked his head towards the house.

‘Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you, hon,’ he said. ‘It’s freezing out here.’ He gave the officer the thumbs-up before he and Annie hurried along the short garden path and into the house. He had already cleaned up the kitchen so that she wouldn’t be confronted by the bloody mess on the floor.

He helped her off with her coat and scarf and went to make her a hot chocolate while she removed her shoes.

Then he told her what had happened while they sat facing each other across the kitchen table. He showed her the photos on his phone of the dead partridge and the message on the card. The colour drained from her face as she took it all in. When she looked up her eyes were dull with shock.

‘Please tell me that you don’t think this is anything other than a vile prank,’ she said.

He dragged in a loud breath and shook his head.

‘I can’t imagine it being anything other than that. But we have to be sure. I’m hoping that whoever did it left a fingerprint or something for the lab technicians to find.’

Annie stared at him, furrows texturing her brow.

‘My God,’ she said. ‘What if some crazed serial killer has decided to target the people of Kirkby Abbey? And us.’

‘Please don’t freak out, Annie,’ James said as he reached across the table to place his hand on hers.

But she drew it back sharply and snapped at him. ‘I’m not freaking out, and I’m not stupid either. You’ve more or less admitted that it might not be a tasteless joke. Therefore, shouldn’t you raise the alarm and warn everyone that they could be in danger? And at the same time flood the village with police officers?’

James fully appreciated where she was coming from, but he knew that the contents of the parcel wouldn’t be enough in themselves to trigger a full-blown investigation. It wasn’t uncommon for death threats to be sent via letter, parcel and email.

‘For all we know that’s exactly what the sender wants to happen,’ he said. ‘If it is just a stupid joke then the more people who get worked up about it the more successful it’ll be deemed to be. And we also need to bear in mind that if it’s not a hoax then there’s no way of knowing if the victims referred to live in this village.’

James could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t convinced, but she decided not to pursue the subject. Instead, she remained silent, holding his gaze while gnawing at the edge of her bottom lip.

‘We’ll soon get to the bottom of it,’ he said, and tried to sound reassuring. ‘I promise you that.’

Her expression changed suddenly, as though a thought had crashed into her head.

‘Jesus Christ, James,’ she yelled. ‘What if it’s from him? What if the bastard has found us?’

CHAPTER FOUR

Annie’s reaction came as no surprise to James. Only three months had passed since the day Andrew Sullivan was released from prison and the brick was thrown through their living room window.

The move to Cumbria had made his wife feel safer, but the threat Sullivan posed still hung over their heads like a dark cloud.

James’s transfer to Kendal had been processed quickly and efficiently by the Met, and only a handful of senior officers had been made privy to why he’d requested it, to reduce the possibility that Sullivan would find out where he’d gone and pursue him.

James had hoped and prayed that the man would get on with his life and forget about seeking revenge for the time he’d spent behind bars. But if he was still determined to punish James, then he could probably use his crooked contacts in the Met to find out about their new home in Kirkby Abbey.

‘Don’t tell me it hasn’t already occurred to you that this could be down to Sullivan,’ Annie said. ‘It’s an easy way to wreck our Christmas and put the fear of God into us.’

‘Of course, it’s occurred to me,’ James said. ‘But there’s a risk of jumping to the wrong conclusion because of what’s happened in the past. I find it hard to believe that Sullivan would bother to put together something so weirdly elaborate when he doesn’t need to. It’s just not his MO, unlike the note that was attached to the brick and the threats he made to me before we collared him. It doesn’t ring true that he would talk about the twelve days of Christmas and tell me he’s about to embark on a killing spree just to seize my attention. And then there’s the partridge, which strikes me as the kind of theatrical gesture that wouldn’t occur to an oaf like Sullivan.’

Annie pushed her chair back and abruptly stood.

‘I need something stronger than hot chocolate,’ she said.

James watched her cross to the fridge and take out a bottle of white wine. Then it was to the cupboard for the glasses.

It gutted him to think that she had been hurled back onto the emotional rollercoaster. She’d had such a tough time over the past few years, starting with her inability to conceive, building with the threats from Sullivan and culminating with the brick through their window.

Since leaving London she’d been more like her old self – bubbly, confident and full of life. Physically, it was as though she’d had a makeover. She was still as gorgeous as she had always been, with those bright blue eyes, soft facial features and thick black hair that tumbled to her shoulders. But there was a glow about her now, and she appeared fitter and healthier after putting on the weight she’d lost through months of worrying. She was still slim and shapely, though, and she looked terrific in the tight brown sweater and denim jeans that clung to her frame.

The last thing James wanted was for her to be struck by another bout of despair in the run up to Christmas.

‘Let’s assume for now that it’s got nothing to do with Sullivan,’ James said. ‘Can you think of anyone living here in the village who might be of a mind to dream up something as crazy as this? Perhaps someone who isn’t happy about us moving here?’

Annie placed the wine and the glasses on the table and sat down.

‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘We’ve been given a warm welcome. And as far as I know we haven’t made any enemies.’

James sat back in the chair and grappled with a new batch of questions that were spinning around in his head.

What would be the next step if no forensic evidence turned up on the parcel and its contents? Would DCI Tanner expect him to pursue it by making discreet enquiries in the village? And if so, who would he approach and what would he ask them?

It was a tricky one, for sure, and he could feel his insides clenching at the thought of how it was going to play out over the days ahead.

Annie poured the wine and pushed James’s glass across the table towards him. He thanked her, then asked what time she’d left the house earlier to go to the nativity play.

‘It was around half four,’ she answered. ‘I popped home to grab a bite to eat and change. It was dark by then so I left the lights on for you.’

‘I got here just after six so the parcel was placed on the doorstep between those times,’ James said. ‘The street outside was empty when I arrived, but I suppose somebody could have been watching from the shadows.’

‘I don’t remember seeing anyone outside either,’ Annie said.

‘What about when you walked to the school? Did you pass any other people or cars heading this way?’

Annie scrunched up her brow and cast her mind back. It took her mere seconds to shake her head.

‘I only saw one other person,’ she said. ‘It was Keith Patel, who I’ve seen around the village from time to time. We passed each other on the pavement this side of the square. I said hello to him but he either didn’t hear me or chose not to respond.’

‘Didn’t you think that was odd? Or at least rude?’

‘Not really. The man has a reputation for being anti-social. Apparently, he’s been like that since his ageing mother died a year ago. Janet told me that the woman fell down her stairs but her body wasn’t discovered for a week because nobody called at the house. Patel is now living there but keeps to himself because he believes that she might have been saved if her friends and neighbours in the village had bothered to drop in on her.’

James leaned forward across the table. ‘Can you remember if the guy was carrying a box or a bag?’

‘He wasn’t carrying anything,’ Annie said. ‘I can remember that clearly. But he was pulling a shopping trolley – the kind used by elderly people. He’s not exactly old, though, probably in his fifties. I also noticed he was limping.’

‘So while you were walking away from our house, he was walking towards it? Is that right?’

Annie nodded. ‘But then, he does live down the hill opposite the stables. I’m guessing he was just going home.’

James mulled this over for a few moments, and said, ‘As a matter of interest, do you happen to know when exactly his mum died?’

Annie shrugged. ‘According to Janet, people think it was last Christmas Eve. But they can’t be absolutely sure because her body wasn’t found until New Year’s Day.’

James felt a sudden twist in his gut as he wondered if Keith Patel should become their first suspect.

CHAPTER FIVE

James spent the rest of the evening in work mode. He found it impossible to concentrate on anything other than the parcel.

He asked Annie lots of questions about the people she knew in Kirkby Abbey, and was particularly interested in the ones she’d had contact with since moving here.

Some of those she mentioned James had already been introduced to, including Lorna Manning, the school headmistress.

‘I’m confident that none of them would do such a thing,’ Annie said. ‘Lorna is my friend as well as my boss. You said yourself how nice she is. The same goes for Father Silver, who has a lot on his plate at the moment, what with his illness and the impending closure of his church. They both have their ears to the ground, so I’m sure they would have told me if someone in the village had it in for us.’

Among the other villagers James had met were Charlie and Sonia Jenkins, landlords of The White Hart pub, and Giles Keegan, a former member of the Cumbria Constabulary who used to work in the same office where James was now based.

‘They’ve all been really welcoming,’ Annie said. ‘But you ought to ask Giles what he thinks. I’m sure that not much happens in Kirkby Abbey that he isn’t aware of.’

Among those James hadn’t met was Keith Patel and it was Patel’s name that James scrawled in his notebook, along with the fact that Annie had seen him walking towards their house pulling a shopping trolley shortly before the parcel was left on their doorstep. Was it just a coincidence? Probably. But that did not mean it wasn’t a credible line of inquiry, along with Andrew Sullivan’s possible involvement.

Obviously, Annie knew only a very small number of the seven hundred or so people who resided in Kirkby Abbey, and many of those she’d known when she’d lived here with her parents had since left the village. The shrinking population was the main reason that things had changed and were continuing to change. The only church was due to close for good early in the new year because of a dramatic fall in the number of worshippers, and it was thought unlikely that the campaign to save the primary school would succeed.

These were issues that James had raised with Annie in recent months – though they hadn’t dampened her enthusiasm for the move – and he had got her to agree not to sell the house in Tottenham or rent it out for at least six months, until they had a better idea of what would happen in Kirkby Abbey. They also needed the time to find out if life in rural England would suit them both.

As well as talking to Annie about the villagers, James sent an email to one of his colleagues in the Met asking for a status report on Andrew Sullivan. He wanted to know where he was and what he’d been up to.

He then went online and pulled up photos of partridges. It didn’t take him long to establish that the poor thing in the box was a grey partridge that was pretty common in Cumbria. It was easily recognisable from its orange face and the dark horseshoe-shaped patch on its chest.

Of course, partridges were immortalized in the carol The Twelve Days of Christmas, but James reminded himself of the fact that the real ‘twelve days of Christmas’ is a period in Christian theology that marks the span between the birth of Christ and the coming of the three wise men. It begins on Christmas Day and runs to January 6th.

So why had the person or persons who delivered the parcel alluded to it in the message? Was it part of a prank aimed at seizing his attention in the most dramatic fashion? Or was it a genuine warning that a killing spree would take place in Kirkby Abbey over the Christmas period?

Both James and Annie had a restless night, unable to sleep properly with so much on their minds. It didn’t help that a blustery wind caused the bedroom window to rattle noisily for much of the time.

James awoke at seven on Saturday morning and saw that a layer of snow had settled over the village. Chimneys sprouted through marshmallow rooftops and the street out front was devoid of tyre tracks and footprints. Their two cars, and those belonging to the neighbours, were little more than strange white shapes that looked bulky and out of place in the tranquil setting.

When he switched on the TV in the kitchen, the weather forecaster was saying that there was much worse to come. She used words such as blizzards and disruption to describe what to expect.

‘My advice is to be prepared and don’t get caught out,’ she said.

James had been looking forward to spending the first day of the weekend relaxing with Annie. The plan had been to see what was on offer at the farmers’ market in the village square and then to have a leisurely lunch at The White Hart.

But the parcel had created an unwanted distraction and was bound to occupy their thoughts throughout the day.

He made Annie a cup of tea and took it to her in the bedroom. She asked him what he was going to do about the parcel and he told her that he wasn’t sure.

‘I’ll give it another hour or so and call the lab,’ he said. ‘They promised to prioritise the tests. Then I’ll check with the boss to see what he thinks the next step should be.’

The hour passed quickly enough. By eight thirty, they were both showered and dressed and having a cereal breakfast at the kitchen table. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall, but it seemed like the wind had dropped.

In the end, James didn’t have to put in a call to the lab because one of the technicians phoned him. But the news was disappointing. The only prints found on the box, the wrapping paper, clingfilm and card belonged to him. And the initial examination indicated that there was no DNA trace evidence on any of the objects.

‘As for the partridge, I can confirm that it was a hen,’ the technician said. ‘And it had been stabbed it the stomach. We estimate that it was killed at some point in the past twenty-four to thirty-six hours.’

After hanging up with the lab, James phoned DCI Tanner at home to tell him the results.

‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ Tanner said. ‘Whoever did it would have made sure to cover their tracks.’

James told him how Annie had spotted one of the villagers heading towards their house around the time the parcel was dumped on the doorstep.

‘It’s a tenuous link at best,’ Tanner said. ‘I’m sure there would have been other people she didn’t see. But I suppose it’s worth having a chat with him. And you could try to find out if the type of wrapping paper and card that was used can be purchased locally.’

‘Leave it with me, guv,’ James said. ‘Meanwhile, I’m not ruling out Andrew Sullivan. I’ve asked a former colleague in the Met to check what he’s up to for me.’

Tanner was one of the few officers in the Cumbria Constabulary who knew about the brick incident and the threats James had received from Sullivan in the past.

‘At this stage let’s keep everything low key,’ the DCI said. ‘My money is on it being a reckless hoax and if I’m right I don’t want us to assign people to it who would be more usefully deployed elsewhere. Severe weather is now being predicted for the week ahead and that could mean massive pressure on our resources.’

James came off the phone and told Annie what Tanner had said. She was about to respond when her own phone rang. Annie answered it and smiled when she heard the caller’s voice. But it was quickly replaced by a frown. She mumbled a couple of times to whoever was on the line, then looked across the table at James.

‘He’s with me now,’ she said into the phone. ‘Of course. Bear with me and I’ll put him on.’

As Annie handed her phone to her husband, she said, ‘It’s Father Silver at St John’s. He’s called me because I gave him my number a few weeks ago. But it’s you he wants to speak to. He says he thinks it’s a police matter.’

James took the phone from Annie. He didn’t know the priest as well as she did, but he’d met him several times.

‘Hi there, Father,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m really sorry to bother you at the weekend, Detective Walker,’ the priest said. ‘But I’m concerned about an odd message I’ve received from someone who hasn’t provided a name but suggests I talk to you.’

‘Really? What kind of message?’

‘Well, it’s written inside a card depicting The Twelve Days of Christmas.’

James felt a shudder ripple through him.

‘Exactly what does it say, Father?’ he asked.

The priest cleared his throat and read out the message, which caused the heat to rise in James’s chest.

‘I’ll be right there, Father,’ he said. ‘And can I ask you to please not show it to anyone else?’

CHAPTER SIX

St John’s Church was a distinctive building set back from the road and close to the centre of the village. It was surrounded by dozens of weathered gravestones and a few impressive yew trees, and had an attractive bell tower.

James thought it a great shame that it was being forced to close, but it was the same story in villages, towns and cities across the country as people sought answers outside religion. He’d read somewhere that since the sixties, church attendance in Cumbria had more than halved as society was becoming more secular and religion more diverse.

The snow had stopped falling by the time he arrived at St John’s, but the sky remained heavy and grey, and the air felt raw. James wondered if this was the calm before the storm.

Father Thomas Silver was placing bibles on the pews when he entered the church, but as soon as he saw James, he stopped what he was doing and hurried over.

The priest was a tall man in his mid-sixties, thin and wiry, with a few strands of grey hair, a heavily lined pale face, and a large nose.

James had first met him at Annie’s mum’s funeral, but back then he’d been quite large. The loss of weight had followed a diagnosis of prostate cancer six months ago. He’d made no secret of the fact that it was terminal and that this would in all likelihood be his last Christmas.

Today he was wearing a black suit and clerical shirt with a tunic collar.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Detective Walker,’ he said, shaking James’s hand. ‘I’m not afraid to admit that the message in the card concerns as well as baffles me. I’m hoping you can shed some light on it.’

James shook his head. ‘I wish I could. But I’m as confused as you are, Father. All I can tell you is that I received a similar card yesterday. These things usually turn out to be silly pranks, though.’

‘Then let us hope that is the case here.’

‘Where is the card now?’

‘In the office.’

‘Then please lead the way. Has anyone else touched it?’

‘No, they haven’t. Are you going to have it checked for fingerprints?’

‘Yes.’

He followed Father Silver into his office, which was quite compact, with a single window that looked out on some of the headstones at the back of the church. There was a cluttered desk, a small leather sofa, and the walls were adorned with framed prints of scenes from the bible.

The card had been placed on top of a grey metal filing cabinet along with the envelope it had come in. James saw straight away that it matched exactly the one that had been delivered to him.

He’d come prepared and took a pair of latex gloves and an evidence bag from his overcoat pocket. He slipped the gloves on before picking up the card.

The message inside was scrawled in black marker and the handwriting appeared to be a match as well.

You need to prepare for a spate of post-Christmas funerals, Father Silver. If you want to know why then ask Detective James Walker.

‘How was this delivered to you, Father?’ he asked.

‘It was left on the bench inside the front porch,’ Father Silver said. ‘I saw it when I arrived here this morning from my home in the rectory.’

‘And where is that?’

‘Just across the road.’

‘So it could have been placed there during the night or early today.’

He nodded. ‘I left here and closed up about five yesterday evening so that I could go along to the nativity play at the school. It wasn’t in the porch then.’

‘Was there anyone outside at that time?’

‘No. The churchyard was empty. I’m sure of it. I don’t recall seeing anyone until I got to the school. After the play I went straight back to the rectory and got an early night. I rarely stay up beyond nine o’clock these days as a result of my condition.’

‘Yes, Annie mentioned you had spoken to her about it, Father. I was sorry to hear it.’

‘Thank you, my son. But it’s God’s will so I accept it with good grace.’

‘Nevertheless, it can’t be easy.’

He smiled. ‘It isn’t, but it would be much harder if I didn’t know that I was going to a better place.’

James didn’t want to get involved in a theological discussion at this time so he just nodded, then quickly turned his attention to the envelope. On it was written:

To the priest of St John’s

‘Do you believe that this card and the one that was sent to you are from the same person?’ Father Silver asked.

‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about that,’ James said.

‘Then perhaps they were sent to other people as well.’

James shrugged. ‘If so then I suspect we’ll know soon enough.’

James sealed the evidence bag and placed it in his pocket. His head was spinning now with more questions and a lead weight had started to form in his chest.

He just couldn’t fathom what was going on. What was the aim of the creep who was behind it? Was it to stir up panic in the village before Christmas just to indulge a warped sense of humour? Or had Andrew Sullivan launched a vicious vendetta against him after learning that he was now enjoying a quiet life in the Yorkshire Dales?

James felt sure that in both these scenarios the threat to kill people was an empty one. He was less certain about the worst-case scenario Annie had put forward – that a crazed serial killer might have decided to target people in Kirkby Abbey. It seemed highly unlikely, but James knew that it wasn’t unknown for serial killers to taunt the police with letters and phone calls and to issue warnings about crimes they were planning to commit.

It made him think about the first message:

Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

Could it really be that a group of people in this quiet village had incurred the wrath of a genuine psychopath, someone who was living amongst them? And now he or she was determined to exact revenge?

A piercing cry from outside broke his contemplation, causing the hairs to stir on the back of his neck.

The priest heard it too and reacted by rushing over to the window behind the desk.

‘What’s happening?’ James asked. ‘It sounds like someone is angry or upset.’

‘I think you’re right on both counts, Detective. The poor man appears to be in a terrible state.’

James stepped up behind him and peered through the window. He saw a rough-looking man waving his fists in the air and yelling at the sky. He was wearing a green parka and black woollen hat.

‘Do you know him, Father?’

‘Indeed, I do. And I also know what has brought on this reaction.’

‘Oh?’

The priest gave a slow nod. ‘The headstone on his mother’s grave has been defaced again. I saw it yesterday afternoon and had planned to do something about it this morning, but it slipped my mind after I opened the card.’

‘So it’s happened before then?’

‘I’m afraid so. Sadly, Mr Patel is considered fair game for the vandals who get their kicks from damaging and destroying things that don’t belong to them.’

James snapped his head towards the priest. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but what did you say his name was?’

‘It’s Patel. Keith Patel. His mother Nadia died in tragic circumstances a year ago this very week. And he still hasn’t come to terms with losing her.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

James followed the priest as he hurried into the churchyard. By the time they reached Keith Patel he’d stopped wailing and was just standing there, staring down at his mother’s grave.

He turned when he heard them approach, and anger and distress were evident in his expression. His eyes were slits, teeth clenched, and his voice cracked with emotion when he said, ‘It’s the third time the fuckers have done this. Everyone knows who they are but they get away with it because nobody but me gives a toss.’

‘That’s not true, Keith,’ Father Silver said. ‘I care and so do most other people. This is the work of mindless vandals. But rest assured, it won’t take me long to clear it up just as I’ve done before.’

‘That’s not the point and you know it,’ Patel spat back. ‘The people in this village ignored my mother when she was alive, partly because she was Indian and they felt she didn’t fit in. That’s why she died sooner than she should have. And now that she’s in her grave they still treat her with total disrespect.’

When James saw why the man was so upset, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Red paint had been sprayed on the white granite headstone, obliterating the epitaph that was inscribed on it. The paint also stained the marble chippings within the grave’s kerb surround, and a memorial vase was on its side. The flowers that had been in it were scattered across the ground and most of them had been damaged.

Patel suddenly seemed to notice James standing behind the priest, and the lines around his watery eyes deepened into a frown.

‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘You’re the copper who married Annie Kellerman. Are you here because of this?’

James shook his head. ‘I just happened to be with Father Silver in his office, Mr Patel. But I’ll certainly put the wheels in motion so that it can be investigated.’

‘A fat lot of good that’ll do. The police got involved before, but could never prove who was responsible. Not that they spent much time trying. So, I don’t expect it to be any different this time.’

Patel turned his back on them, knelt down and began picking up the flowers.

‘You’re in no fit state to do that, Keith,’ Father Silver said. ‘I insist you go home and leave it to me. It’s my responsibility. I’ve got a bottle of white spirit in the office and some fresh flowers to replace those.’

It seemed at first as if Patel was going to ignore the priest, but after a few seconds he heaved himself to his feet, which seemed to require a great deal of effort.

‘I’ll come back later this afternoon then,’ he said, after taking a shivering breath. ‘And by then I expect you to have it sorted.’

The priest nodded. ‘I will, Keith. I promise. And I’m so sorry. This is simply not acceptable.’

Patel then turned to James. ‘I heard on the grapevine that your wife persuaded you to move here from London. She probably told you that this is a quiet place where everyone is pleasant and friendly. Well, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s a shithole, and most of the people are heartless scumbags and racists. But I reckon you’ll soon find that out for yourself. Meanwhile, give my regards to Annie. Her mother was one of the very few people who gave my mum the time of day.’

‘Annie told me that you bumped into each other early yesterday evening,’ James said. ‘You were pulling a shopping trolley and heading towards your house.’

Patel frowned. ‘I don’t remember that.’

‘She said hi to you.’

‘Did she? I obviously didn’t hear. I’d been to stock up at the store and was in a hurry to get home.’

James didn’t want to put him on the spot by challenging his rather unconvincing explanation in front of the priest. He’d do it later, when there was no one else around. Instead, he watched as Patel turned and headed towards the churchyard exit.

‘Why is he limping?’ James asked Father Silver.

‘He suffers from a serious case of rheumatoid arthritis in his knee joints,’ the priest said. ‘It’s getting progressively worse with age.’

‘Does he work?’

‘No. He manages on benefits and a cash sum his mother left him.’

‘Annie told me what happened to her and why he holds a grudge against some of the villagers. But where was he when his mother fell down the stairs?’

‘At the time he was working as a shop assistant in Manchester and living in a rented flat. By all accounts he was barely managing to pay the bills, but he came to see his mum, Nadia, as often as possible.’

‘So do you know much about him, Father?’ James asked.

‘Well, I know that his father Floyd passed away some years ago. The man followed the Catholic faith and so did Nadia. She joined our congregation soon after she moved here. A delightful, God-fearing woman who died before her time. She left the house to Keith, who has never married, and he settled here. But in my opinion that was a mistake because he’s full of resentment for the villagers. He should have sold up and moved elsewhere.’

‘Why didn’t he?’

The priest gestured at the grave in front of them. ‘He told me he wanted to stay close to her. Couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her alone.’

Father Silver then offered to make James a cup of tea.

‘That’s very kind of you, Father. But before you make it I wonder if you could provide me with a fingerprint sample so that we can distinguish it from any others we might find on the card and envelope.’

‘Of course, Detective. That’s not a problem.’

Back inside the church, the priest stuck his right thumb and fingers against a small, clear handheld mirror that James placed in another evidence bag.

They had a brief conversation then, during which Father Silver was at pains to point out that Patel’s negative comments about the village and its residents were far from true.

‘They’re good people, with a few exceptions,’ he said. ‘But I have to acknowledge that the community itself has become quite dispirited. Too many young families have moved away, partly because there’s so little work. And things are set to get worse with the closure of this church and the school. It’s desperately troubling for me that I won’t be around to offer hope and counselling during the tough times that lie ahead, especially if the person responsible for those cards is not a prankster, but is intent on bringing death and destruction to Kirkby Abbey.’

‘Try not to lose sleep over it, Father,’ James said. ‘The odds are that it’s a hoax.’

The priest compressed his lips tightly together and nodded.

‘I will pray that you’re right about that, Detective Walker. But if you’re not then I just hope you are able to apprehend this person before he harms anyone.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Annie was waiting for James to call her after his visit to the church. They were hoping to meet up so they could have a drink and some lunch together, and she was eager to hear if Father Silver knew or suspected who had sent him the threatening card.

She was still reeling from the shock of it. James, typically, had tried to play it down, his face remaining firm and stoic as he’d relayed what the priest had told him over the phone.

But Annie could tell from the look in his eyes that it had rattled him. It was the same look that had been there after the brick was hurled through the window of their home in Tottenham.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. They had moved to Cumbria so that they could feel safe and secure. But suddenly a nagging sense of dread had been planted in her stomach, and she found it hard to think about anything other than the dead partridge and those ominous messages.

She did her best to try to take her mind off it by keeping busy. After tidying the kitchen, she finished off putting up the decorations ready for when James’s family arrived en masse on Christmas Eve.

But she was already starting to wonder if they should even come now. God only knew what was going to happen during the next seven days.

She found herself looking at the framed photos on the mantlepiece. There was one of her and James on their wedding day, which took place at a fancy hotel in Kent. Dozens of pictures were taken that day, but this one of them standing either side of the cake was her favourite. They were smiling at each other, and it was clear for all to see that they were so happy and very much in love.

James was a fine figure of a man at the best of times, tall and lean with thick brown hair, but on that day he’d looked really scrumptious in his black Moss Bros. morning suit and waistcoat.

The photo next to it was the last one taken of her parents together. It was at the start of a charity hike on Wild Boar Fell which raised £3,000 for Save The Children. Two months later her dad collapsed and died of a heart attack and her mum never went hiking again.

Guilt always reared its ugly head whenever Annie thought about her father. At the time of his death when she was a teenager, she hadn’t been on good terms with him because he had wrecked her relationship with the man she had fallen in love with.

His name was Daniel Curtis and he was a tour guide who lived with his parents in Kirkby Abbey. She’d met him on an organised day trip to the Lake District with some of her friends. He was good-looking and charming, and she was made up when he’d asked for her phone number.

After that they’d met at least twice a week for over three months, but always in secret. There was a good reason for that. At the time Annie had just turned sixteen and he was fourteen years older. Her dad found out about it after someone saw her going into Daniel’s house while his parents were away.

Her father, a devout Catholic, hit the roof. He confronted Daniel and accused him of being a paedophile even though Annie had just reached the age of consent.

Daniel agreed not to see her again, and to make it easier on himself he moved from Kirkby Abbey to Keswick. Annie went into a massive teenage sulk for weeks. On the day her father died, she had been staying at Janet Dyer’s house, bemoaning the fact that he had ruined her life.

Of course, it wasn’t long before she realised that he’d been right to step in and save her from herself. It turned out that Daniel had had a number of girls on the go at the time, and three years later he was convicted of having sex with a minor and jailed for two years. On his release, he’d moved back to Keswick but he did return occasionally to visit his widowed father in Kirkby Abbey. Daniel had never married and at almost fifty he was still single.

Annie knew all this because his father Ron was one of the elderly people who Janet visited on a regular basis as a carer. And, of course, there was no way she could resist passing on what she knew to her long-time friend.

Annie still thought about Daniel from time to time but had long ago come to the conclusion that he hadn’t loved her, even though he’d made her believe that he had. She would never forget what her father said to her when he entered her room and found her crying after the break-up: ‘You need to pull yourself together and grow up, Annie. It’s time you faced up to the fact that you were being groomed by that pervert. To him, you were no more than a sex object.’

Annie had told James as much as she’d dared about that phase of her life, leaving out only one important detail that she didn’t want him to know, something she hoped she would never have to reveal it to him. A secret she’d kept for almost twenty years.

James had never come face to face with Daniel Curtis, and she was thankful that the man was now living a hundred or so miles away.

Annie managed to get quite a few chores done before James called.

‘I’m just leaving the church,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you about it when we meet up. Let’s say, in an hour, at The White Hart. I’ve got a few things I need to do first.’

‘So you’re going to keep me in suspense until then?’ Annie replied.

‘It’s not long for you to wait, and it means I can crack on.’

‘Right you are then. I’ll see you in the pub.’

Annie sloped off to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She was waiting for the kettle to boil when the doorbell rang.

She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she hoped that Royal Mail wasn’t about to deliver another unwelcome gift that was too big to slip through the letterbox.

It wasn’t, thank God. But she got quite a surprise nonetheless.

‘Hello there, Annie,’ her visitor said. ‘It’s good to see you after all this time. It’s been eighteen months, by my reckoning.’

Her jaw dropped, and there was a moment’s hesitation before she was able to conjure up a smile.

‘Uncle Bill! What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you until the twenty-second.’

‘I decided to come early because I feared that if I left it any later the bad weather would make it impossible for me to get here.’

He was standing on the doormat with a scarf around his neck and his hands buried in the pockets of a thick overcoat. Annie looked over his shoulder at the road.

‘So where’s your car? And why haven’t you got an overnight bag or case?’

‘Look, can we please save the questions until I’m inside? I’m so cold my teeth are chattering.’

She stood back to let him in, and the first thing he did when the door was closed was to encase her in a hug. He reeked of sweat and tobacco, but she didn’t mind because the gesture was welcome and it caused an ache to swell in her chest.

They hadn’t spoken since the bust-up at her mother’s wake – it wasn’t for want of trying, at least on Annie’s part – because every time she’d phoned him, he’d told her that he didn’t want to talk to her. She eventually gave up and accepted that he was set in his stubborn ways and a reconciliation was out of the question. Which was why she was so surprised when he accepted with alacrity her invitation to join her and James’s family for Christmas in Kirkby Abbey.

‘It’s good to see you, Annie,’ he said, pulling back from the embrace. ‘I’m here because I believe it’s time we put the past behind us and got reacquainted. I’m sorry I waited so long.’

She felt tears well up as they stared at one another. She thought he looked much older than his sixty-eight years. The lines in his face were deep and unforgiving, and he had pale, bloodshot eyes that were rheumy under dropping lids. Patches of slate-grey hair clung to his shiny scalp, and his skin had a yellow tinge.

He broke eye contact with her and thrust his chin towards the kitchen.

‘I wouldn’t say no to a brew, my dear,’ he said. ‘And you can tell me why you decided to move back to the sticks.’

Annie made the teas and they settled in the kitchen to drink them. She started off the conversation by saying that she was meeting James in an hour and invited Bill to join them at the pub.

‘I’d love to but I’ve made other arrangements,’ he said. ‘I’m having an early lunch with an old pal. But after that I’m free for the rest of the day.’

Annie was taken aback as well as disappointed. Her uncle had come all this way to see her and was already going off by himself.

She chose not to make an issue of it and asked him how he’d been and what life was like in Penrith. In turn, he asked her about James and what had prompted the move from London. She didn’t mention Sullivan, and said simply that they’d both decided that they were fed up with the capital.

The conversation was congenial enough, but the more they talked, the more Annie felt that Bill was trying to be careful what he said. Evasive, almost. And several times he appeared to lose his train of thought, which suggested to Annie that he had something else on his mind.

She got the impression from what he said, and from his body language, that he felt more awkward than she did. He was clearly uncomfortable, and seemed far removed from the brash, imperious man she used to know.

She started to wonder if there was something troubling him, and when he responded to her repeated question about where his car was, her curiosity was aroused even further.

‘It’s in the car park of The King’s Head,’ he said. ‘That’s where I’m staying. I arrived early yesterday evening and have booked a room for twelve nights. It’s really cheap.’

‘But why? I said you could stay here. I’ve made a bed up for you.’

He shrugged. ‘I thought it best for everyone if I didn’t stay here. I know James and his brood aren’t keen on me after what happened at the funeral, so I made up my mind to have somewhere to go if things became difficult and I felt I wasn’t welcome.’

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ Annie said, her voice rising an octave. ‘This is going to be a family Christmas in our new home. And you’re part of the family.’

‘I know, and I’m grateful, but this way I won’t feel under so much pressure.’

Annie was sure that there was more to it than that, but she didn’t think it likely that he would open up to her just yet.

‘I did pop over here to see you soon after I arrived around five,’ Bill said. ‘But there was no answer even though the lights were on inside.’

‘As a matter of interest was there a parcel on the doorstep addressed to James?’

He shook his head. ‘Not that I recall. I’m sure I would have seen it if there had been.’

‘So what did you do then?’

‘I went for a walk through the village and delivered some Christmas cards to a few former acquaintances. After that I headed back to The King’s Head for a drink in the bar before going to bed.’

Annie was still trying to get her mind around what he’d just said when he went and dropped another bombshell.

‘I did get a bit of a shock when I was walking past the primary school,’ he said. ‘There was a bloke standing across the road under a tree and he caught my eye when he lit up a fag. I got a good look at his face, and saw that it was your old flame, Daniel Curtis. He has a lot less hair now, but I’d recognise that pervy bastard anywhere. Did you know he was back, Annie?’

She started to reply, but the words got stuck in her throat.

CHAPTER NINE

After phoning Annie, James called headquarters and filed a brief report on the vandalised grave. He sent across pictures he’d taken on his phone with his notes, though he knew full well that not much would come of it. Theft and vandalism at churches across the country were a growing problem and the culprits were rarely apprehended.

He also made arrangements for a patrol car to pick up the card and the mirror containing Father Silver’s prints. He did consider driving them over to the lab himself, but decided his time would be better spent making some enquiries in the village.

Before leaving St John’s, he’d obtained an assurance from the priest that he’d keep quiet about what he knew.

It had been an interesting meeting, but James came away from it none the wiser as to what was going on. Keith Patel had struck him as a troubled individual, but not someone who would get his own back by murdering – or threatening to murder – those people he believed should have visited his mother before she died of her injuries. All the same, James did intend to speak to him later and perhaps even seek a warrant to search his home. But he knew that once the process became official the word would spread and it could trigger unnecessary panic among the villagers.

He decided that before meeting Annie at the pub, he’d visit the general store to check whether it sold those Twelve Days of Christmas cards. On the way, he took out his phone and called DCI Tanner to update him.

The boss was none too pleased to hear that another card had turned up. He admitted that he hadn’t expected it, and was concerned that it’d get picked up by the media.

‘If that happens it’ll be blown out of all proportion and whatever we do won’t be enough,’ he said. ‘So try to keep a lid on it at least until we can be sure what we’re dealing with.’

‘It would help if I’d been living here longer,’ James said. ‘As it is, I’m still not that familiar with the village or those who live here.’

‘Well, DS Stevens used to reside over that way before moving to Burneside. You can pick his brain. Or, better still, look up Giles Keegan. He had my job here until five years ago when he retired. It’s my understanding he still lives in Kirkby Abbey.’

‘He does, guv. I’ve already met him, and that’s actually a good call.’

‘Do you need his phone number?’

‘He gave it to me. I was planning to ring him so that we can arrange to have a drink together.’

‘I’m sure he’ll know everything there is to know about the village and you can get him to dish the dirt on his friends and neighbours. Hopefully he’ll know of anyone who has form or a screw loose in the head.’

Kirkby Abbey was much busier than usual because of the monthly farmers’ market. About twenty small covered stalls were crammed into the village square, everything on sale locally grown, produced or caught, including meats, cheeses, breads, vegetables, beers, eggs, fish and cakes.

Villagers were mixing with visitors, and it appeared to James as though everyone was immersed in the season of goodwill. In the centre of the square stood a large Christmas tree adorned with bright coloured lights and surrounded by a fence about two feet high.

Above the village, the wind-blown clouds had taken on weight and mass, and it had become shockingly cold. People were wrapped up in heavy coats and scarves, and breath formed in front of their faces.

The general store was just off the square and was part of a traditional limestone terrace. It stocked most of what the village needed to be self-sufficient, and also doubled up as the post office.

A wheelchair ramp was attached to the front and was used mainly by the woman who ran the store with her husband.

Maeve King had been paralysed following a stroke three years ago but continued to work behind the counter as often as she could. Peter King put in most of the hours these days, with the help of a part-time assistant.

He was the one who was working today, but before approaching him, James headed for the display of Christmas-related products at the opposite end of the store. It contained wrapping paper, decorations, festive ornaments, plus a wide range of cards. James found what he was looking for as soon as he started sifting through them.

The same Twelve Days of Christmas cards that had been delivered to his home and the church were here in packs of ten and there were two packs left. He picked one up and took it to the counter.

King was a florid-faced man in his sixties with fleshy pink lips and hair the colour of sea foam. He recognised James and beamed a smile at him.

‘How are you today, Detective Walker?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ James said, placing the cards on the counter. ‘Is your wife not with you today?’

King shook his head. ‘She doesn’t like to venture out if it’s too cold. But a friend’s spending the day with her so she’s making the most of it.’ He picked up the cards to check the price. ‘You’ve made a good choice with these. It’s such an eye-catching design, and they’ve proved very popular.’

‘Have you sold many of them?’

‘Indeed we have. They were in a mixed batch of over a hundred packs we got in eight weeks ago. I’m not sure how many of that particular design have gone out, but I believe there are only a few left.’

‘So I reckon a lot of villagers will be sending each other the exact same card.’ James said.

King laughed. ‘Happens every year, but it’s to be expected since we’re the only retailer in Kirkby Abbey selling cards.’

‘Tell me, Mr King, is it possible to keep track of who buys which packs?’

King wrinkled his brow. ‘That’s a strange question, Detective. Why do you want to know?’

‘I’m just curious. That’s all.’

King shrugged. ‘Most people pay in cash and only the batch number shows on the till receipt anyway. And, of course, we stocked the same brands last Christmas, so I expect some people still had them in a cupboard or drawer at home.’

As James paid for the cards – with cash – he nodded towards the CCTV camera on the wall to the right of the counter.

‘It’s great to see that you take security seriously. I’ve been told that some shops in the area don’t even have cameras installed.’

King followed his gaze. ‘Between us, it’s not been working for weeks. I need to get it repaired or replaced.’

James left the shop disappointed. It was obvious that it would be impossible to identify who had purchased the cards that had been sent to him and the priest.

But at least it now seemed certain that they’d been bought in the village store by a local, which narrowed the list of potential suspects down to … hundreds of people.

CHAPTER TEN

The White Hart was the oldest of the two pubs in the village. Unlike The King’s Head, it didn’t have rooms for rent, and it was in a better position overlooking the square.

There was a gabled entrance and bay windows on the outside. Inside it was a typical cosy Cumbrian pub, with timber floors, open fires, worn leather sofas and a low oak-beamed ceiling.

Country oddments and pictures of the Dales lined the walls, and an archway led from the bar into a restaurant with about fifteen tables.

There were plenty of Christmas decorations, and as James entered, he heard the Mariah Carey classic All I Want For Christmas Is You playing in the background.

He was there before his wife and ordered a bottle of her favourite Chardonnay from the landlady, Sonia Jenkins.

James felt sure that there weren’t many women in the village as attractive as Sonia. She had a pretty face, stunning figure, and a smile that lit up the room.

But she wasn’t smiling now, for whatever reason. After taking his order, she said, ‘Will your wife be joining you, Mr Walker?’

‘Any minute now,’ he said. ‘So I’ll need two glasses with that and a lunch menu please.’

‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring them over.’ Then she hesitated a moment before continuing. ‘I’m sure Annie mentioned what happened at the school yesterday evening after the nativity play. So when she arrives I’d like to take the opportunity to apologise to her. Would that be okay with you?’

James arched his brow. ‘Actually, the only thing she told me was that the play was a roaring success.’

Sonia blew out an audible breath. ‘Oh, well, perhaps I didn’t make as much of a fool of myself as I thought I did.’

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ James said. ‘So what did happen?’

She was about to explain when her attention was suddenly drawn to a point beyond him.

‘I think I’ll leave it to your wife to provide you with the gory details,’ she said. ‘She’s just arrived.’

James turned to see Annie walking towards them while unzipping her parka.

‘Right on cue,’ he said to her. ‘I’ve ordered wine and if you’re hungry we can get some lunch. But first Sonia wants a quick word with you.’

Annie acknowledged Sonia with a pleasant smile as she stepped up to the bar.

‘I just want to say that I’m sorry for my little outburst at the school yesterday,’ Sonia said. ‘It’s true I’d had a couple of gin and tonics after I was told about Janet and my husband. So I found it hard to control myself. But I shouldn’t have caused a scene in front of you and everyone else. I feel really stupid.’

Annie held onto her smile as she shook her head and told Sonia not to worry.

‘It was over in a flash,’ she said. ‘So you shouldn’t let it bother you. We all allow our emotions to get the better of us from time to time.’

‘Thanks for being so understanding, Annie,’ Sonia said. ‘As a token of my appreciation the wine is on the house. Now, go and find somewhere to perch yourselves before the place starts to fill up, which it will soon enough.’

They chose a table in an alcove, and after Sonia brought the wine and menus, Annie told James about the altercation at the school between the two women.

‘I forgot to mention it because we both got so wound up talking about the parcel,’ she said. ‘But it was pretty unpleasant, and the funny thing is I wasn’t quite sure who to feel sorry for.’

‘What do you mean?’ James asked.

Annie shrugged. ‘I’m not altogether convinced that Janet was being honest when she denied having a fling with him.’

They didn’t dwell on the subject for long because there was so much else to talk about.

Having decided what to eat, James went to the bar and ordered pea soups and crusty bread before filling Annie in on what had happened at the church. She was appalled when she saw the photos of the defaced headstone and expressed sympathy for Keith Patel.

‘He claims he was on his way back from the store with shopping when you passed him,’ James said. ‘But he doesn’t recall seeing you or hearing you speak to him.’

‘That might well be the case, I suppose. I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to prove otherwise.’

‘He also sent his regards to you. He said your mum and his mum were friends.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Annie said. ‘But there’s a lot I don’t know about Mum’s life after I left here.’

James showed Annie the cards he’d got at the store and explained why it’d be impossible to find out who else had bought them.

‘But I think it’s safe to say that the person who delivered the cards to me and Father Silver got them here in Kirkby Abbey,’ he said. ‘So it’s possible that it’s someone we know.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of the soups, after which Annie imparted some surprising news about her Uncle Bill.

‘I really don’t know what’s going on with him,’ she said. ‘He’s acting really strangely. First of all he decided to check in to The King’s Head instead of staying with us. Then he claims he went off on a walk through the village delivering Christmas cards to Christ knows who. I’ve invited him for dinner at the house tonight. Six o’clock. Hopefully I’ll get more out of him then.’

James had never been a fan of Bill Cardwell. He’d always found him bad-tempered and loud-mouthed. And when he’d shouted at his niece at her mother’s funeral, it had taken a lot of will power not to punch him in the face.

‘I did ask Bill if he saw the parcel on the doorstep when he came to the house,’ Annie said. ‘He assured me he didn’t, but he claims he did see a man standing across the road from the school smoking a cigarette. And he swears blind that it was Daniel Curtis.’

James could tell that his wife found it uncomfortable even to mention the name. Early on in their relationship she told him about the short, ill-fated affair she’d had with the much older man and how it caused a rift between her and her father. James knew about Curtis’s subsequent conviction for having sex with a minor, and he wasn’t sure how he’d react if he ever met the guy.

‘I thought it was made clear to Curtis that he wasn’t welcome here after he got out of prison,’ he said.

‘It was, and that hasn’t changed, but according to Janet he comes here occasionally to see his elderly dad and tries to stay under the radar.’

As James thought about this an uneasy knot formed in his stomach.

After a beat, he said, ‘So, for different reasons, Daniel Curtis and Keith Patel have an uncomfortable relationship with the villagers. Curtis has been ostracised and Patel blames them for what happened to his mother. It might make them feel like they have a score to settle. In which case, perhaps it wasn’t just a coincidence that they were both out and about yesterday evening when the parcel and cards were being delivered.’

They’d just finished their soups when James’s phone rang. It was the patrol officer to say he had arrived in Kirkby Abbey to pick up the card and the priest’s fingerprints. James told him to come to The White Hart where he’d be waiting outside.

There were now quite a few more people in the bar and restaurant, and as he walked outside he passed more coming in. The patrol car turned up within minutes and he handed over the two evidence bags.

He was about to go back inside when loud voices suddenly caught his attention. They were coming from the alley just to the right of where he stood, which ran between the pub and the building next door.

James paused to listen, and when he heard a woman yell, ‘Just fuck off and leave me alone,’ he knew he had to investigate.

A second later, he was standing in the mouth of the alley watching Sonia and Charlie Jenkins having a heated argument.

‘The bitch just phoned to tell me that you went to see her this morning,’ Sonia screamed at her husband. ‘So how do you expect me to react after she changed her story and told me you have been sleeping with her for months? You promised me it would never happen again.’

Charlie was a good six inches taller than his wife and his face was tense, jaw locked, as he gave her a hard, uncompromising stare.

‘It’s not true,’ he told her. ‘I went there to tell her to stay away from us and never to set foot in our pub again. She’s just out to stir things up.’

‘Oh, come off it, Charlie. You’re taking me for a mug. Things haven’t been right with us for some time and it even occurred to me that you might be seeing someone else, but I didn’t want to believe it.’

‘She’s lying, though.’

‘And why would she do that?’

‘Because she came on to me and I rejected her. I told her I’d never be unfaithful again.’

Sonia snapped then and slapped him hard around the face.

‘You bastard. I wish you were bloody dead. You’ve destroyed our marriage and let me down a second time.’

Charlie responded by grabbing her wrists, prompting James to rush into the alley to intervene.

‘That’s enough, you two,’ he shouted. ‘If it gets physical it gets dangerous.’

They both turned to him, their expressions frozen.

As James approached, Charlie let go of his wife’s wrists.

‘This has got nothing to do with you,’ he said. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

‘Just long enough to see that it was getting out of hand,’ James replied. ‘I heard shouting and thought that someone might be in trouble.’

‘He is in trouble,’ Sonia said, poking a finger at her husband. ‘But he doesn’t think he should be. He’s a liar and a cheat and I hate to think what he would have done to me if you hadn’t showed up.’

‘Oh, come off it,’ Charlie said. ‘It was you who slapped me.’

‘And you’re lucky that’s all I did.’

With that, Sonia turned sharply on her heels and stormed back into the pub through the side entrance.

Charlie started shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry you had to see that,’ he said to James. ‘We’re going through a tough time and the missus is finding it hard to control her temper.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with me, Mr Jenkins,’ James said. ‘The only advice I would offer is to argue in the privacy of your own home next time. And to keep your hands off one another.’

Charlie heaved his shoulders. ‘I was having a fag break after an hour slaving away in a hot kitchen. She followed me out and it kicked off. She’s had a few drinks.’

James didn’t want to be drawn into a domestic dispute, so he looked at his watch and told Charlie that he had to return to the restaurant. Charlie then turned and headed back down the alley as James went inside.

He was surprised to see that Sonia was already back behind the bar alongside a young woman named Beth who appeared to be a regular member of the bar staff. Sonia caught his eye and mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ at him, which prompted him to smile at her. Annie noticed the exchange and gave him a questioning look.

‘I heard what I thought might be an assault taking place in the alley,’ he said. ‘But when I went to look, I saw Sonia and Charlie having a row.’

He told Annie what he’d overheard.

‘I’m expecting to see Janet at some point today so I’ll ask her about it,’ Annie said. ‘But I really think that Sonia needs to call time on that relationship if Charlie did cheat on her. I know he’s done it at least once before.’

They finished off the bottle of wine and decided to make a move. James paid the bill and was glad that Beth handled the transaction while Sonia served someone else at the other end of the bar.

Outside, the sky continued to be grey and oppressive, but it wasn’t stopping people from making the most of the market and all it had to offer.

Annie wanted to check out the stalls before heading home, to get some things for dinner. James was happy to join her in the hope that it would make him feel more relaxed.

But just then his phone pinged with an incoming text. It was a message from the former colleague in the Met. The news did nothing to lift his mood.

Made some calls and chatted to the usual suspects. Sullivan hasn’t been seen for days but one usually reliable snout reckons he’s gone away on a Christmas break somewhere in the UK. Nobody seems to know where, though.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The snow-covered market square was teeming with life and the festive spirit was almost palpable. Christmas songs were playing, children were squealing excitedly and the traders were doing brisk business.

James was glad to see that the bustle was providing Annie with a distraction. She was going from stall to stall, sniffing out bargains and loading up a carrier bag with ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

But James wasn’t able to shake off the unease that was building inside him. The text regarding Andrew Sullivan had raised more disturbing questions.

Why hadn’t the guy been seen around for days? It was unusual because he was such a high-profile character at the clubs and boozers in his north London neighbourhood. And if he really was on a Christmas break away from the city, had he by any chance decided to spend it in Cumbria?

James had lied to Annie about the contents of the text so as not to alarm her. Thankfully she had believed him when he’d told her that it was from DCI Tanner requesting an update.

But the text wasn’t the only thing playing on his mind. There were at least two other suspects in the frame now – Keith Patel and Daniel Curtis – even if there was no real evidence linking them to the anonymous threats yet. That they both just happened to have been on the streets near James and Annie’s home around the time the parcel was placed on their doorstep was reason enough for them to be suspects, in James’s opinion.

But who was to say they weren’t back in their homes when the card for Father Silver was left in the church porch? According to him, it could have been put there during the night or early this morning.

Then, of course, there was the big unknown. Was this all just a bizarre hoax or a credible threat? Gut instinct told James it was the former, partly because of the melodramatic nature of the messages in the cards and the dead partridge. And the boss was right to be wary of upgrading it to something more serious at this early stage.

Anonymous threats, especially those delivered by post or by hand, were notoriously difficult to investigate, especially those without an obvious suspect or motive. In this case the perp teasingly referred to Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them. But the message lacked specific information, with no names or references to gender. There was no clue as to the motive, either, other than that the victims were going to get what was coming to them.

‘James, will you snap out of it?’

He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realised Annie was trying to get his attention until he felt her tugging on his sleeve.

‘Sorry, hon, I was miles away,’ he said.

She was standing in front of him holding her phone.

‘Janet Dyer just called me,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s upset and has asked if I can pop over to her place for a chat. I suspect it’s about Charlie going there. Would you mind? I can meet you at home. I won’t be long and I’ve got all I need here.’

He nodded. ‘Actually, that’s fine with me. I feel I should be doing something so it’ll give me a chance to go and have a word with Keith Patel now rather than tomorrow when I was planning to. If he does have anything to do with this then I might be able to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand.’

‘Well, since you’ll be passing our house, you can drop the shopping off on the way,’ she said, handing him the bag.

Father Silver had given James Keith Patel’s address. He found it easily enough and it only took him ten minutes to get there after nipping into his own house and plonking the shopping on the kitchen table.

Patel’s detached cottage was on a cobbled street and backed onto a stream that ran through the southern section of the village. Opposite the property was a spectacular view of the Cumbrian countryside: a wild, dramatic landscape shrouded in a pristine sheet of white.

James had a ready excuse for why he was paying him a visit, and he launched into it as soon the man opened his front door.

‘Hello again, Mr Patel,’ he said. ‘I’ve dropped by to inform you that officers will be looking into the damage done to your mother’s grave. I’ve sent a full report and photographs to headquarters in Kendal, but I’d like to ask you a few quick questions if I may.’

After a couple of beats, Patel said, ‘You’d better come in then. The priest just called to tell me he’s cleaned the headstone. I’ll be popping up there later to see for myself.’

Patel left it to James to close the door and then led the way into a small, untidy living room where two large radiators were belting out oppressive heat. There were no Christmas decorations and a strong smell of tobacco hung heavy in the air.

Patel lowered himself onto one of two threadbare armchairs and gestured for James to sit in the other. James removed his coat before doing so and took out his notebook.

There was more to see of Patel now that he had shed his outdoor gear. He had grey hair and a stocky frame that stretched the black polo sweater he was wearing. He looked pretty healthy despite the arthritis that Father Silver had said affected his knee joints and caused his slight limp.

‘You mentioned earlier that vandals have struck twice before,’ James said. ‘Why do you think they pick on your mother’s grave?’

‘I should have thought that was bloody obvious,’ Patel replied sharply. ‘I’m a figure of hate in this village because I never miss an opportunity to condemn what happened to my mum. The medics told me she might have been alive for several days after she fell down the stairs, but she couldn’t move because she broke so many bones and suffered a serious blow to the head. I dread to think what she went through as she lay there calling for help. But none of the so-called good neighbours bothered to check on her when she didn’t appear. I don’t doubt it was because her skin was a different colour to theirs. Mum was always walking to the shop and tending the back garden. So they must have known that something wasn’t right. And her carer, that moron Janet Dyer, was away that weekend and forgot to arrange for someone else to visit.’

‘It was indeed a tragedy,’ James said. ‘Now, you mentioned earlier that everyone knows who the vandals are.’

‘That’s right. Joseph Paxton and Toby Moore. They’re a couple of teenage hooligans who’ve vandalised the church itself and other landmarks in the village. But nothing ever happens to them because their parents and friends always give them an alibi.’

There was pure venom in his voice, and as he spoke his gaze seemed to go in and out of focus.

‘Tell me this, Mr Patel,’ James said. ‘Have you ever been driven to seek retribution against the people you’re angry with?’

‘What exactly do you mean by that? Are you suggesting I’ve done something wrong? Has someone made an accusation against me? Because if so, it’s a lie!’

‘No, you haven’t been accused of anything, Mr Patel. But, given what’s happened to you, it’s a question that needs to be asked.’

‘Well, the answer is no – I haven’t done anything that would land me in trouble, even though I’ve been tempted to on more than one occasion.’

Patel looked at his watch then and got abruptly to his feet, a clear signal that he was calling a halt to the conversation. ‘Now, I don’t think there’s anything else I can tell you so if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.’

James saw no point in asking more questions since he really didn’t have enough grounds to turn it into a full-blown interrogation just yet. He stood and picked up his coat. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Patel. I’ll make sure that you’re informed of any progress my colleagues make in respect of your mother’s grave.’

‘I’m not going to build up my hopes, Detective. I know that your lot have got bigger crimes to solve, so this won’t be treated as a priority.’

As James turned towards the door, he spotted something that caused his heart to trip. On top of a sideboard there was a pile of those now all-too-familiar Christmas cards. They and their envelopes had been taken out of the packet.

‘It’s funny you should have these,’ James said, picking one up. ‘Yesterday I received the exact same card.’

‘The store has got a lot of them in and they’re cheap,’ Patel said.

‘Have you sent any yet? It’s late in the day if you want to ensure they get there before Christmas.’

‘That’s what I intend to do when you’ve gone. I’ll put them in the post before the end of the day.’

James looked at him. ‘It’s worth saying that the one I got wasn’t from a friend or relative. It contained an anonymous threat and I’m now in the process of finding out who it was from. Because I can assure you that I will.’

‘Well, it wasn’t from me,’ Patel said indignantly. ‘If I want to threaten someone, I’ll do it to their face.’

‘I’m not suggesting it was from you,’ James said. ‘But it’s interesting to note that it was left on my doorstep early yesterday evening, about the time my wife saw you walking past our house …’

‘So what? I have to walk past your place to get here. I do it every fucking day.’

‘I appreciate that, Mr Patel, but it would be remiss of me not to wonder if there’s a connection.’

‘That sounds like another fucking accusation, Detective. Is that the real reason you came here – to see if I had anything to do with it?’

James shook his head. ‘Not at all. I simply—’

Patel didn’t let him finish. ‘Get out of my house now. You’re just like the rest of the bastards in this place. I’m guessing you’ve been put up to it by someone who saw a chance to land me in the shit. Well, I’m not having it. If you want to talk to me again then give me notice and I’ll make sure I have a lawyer present.’

James knew he’d be wasting his time trying to reason with the man, so he put the card back down and walked along the hall to let himself out. The door was slammed shut behind him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

By the time Annie got home it was already dark. She’d spent longer with Janet Dyer than she’d expected to, as her friend had been angry and distraught, and had wanted a shoulder to cry on.

James was waiting for her and had made himself useful by peeling the potatoes for dinner and preparing the chicken so it was ready to roast.

He poured them each a glass of wine and they agreed that he would go first and tell Annie about his visit to Keith Patel’s house.

She narrowed her eyes when he mentioned the Christmas cards on the sideboard.

‘He was adamant that he didn’t deliver one to me,’ he said. ‘And it was impossible to tell if he was lying. He came across as angry rather than panicked.’

James then told Annie what Patel had said about Janet Dyer not arranging for another carer to check on his mother in the days following her fall down the stairs.

This was Annie’s cue to talk about her visit to Janet’s house.

‘She was upset because Charlie Jenkins gave her an earful when he went to see her this morning,’ she said. ‘To get her own back she phoned Sonia and told her she was lying when she denied sleeping with him. She admitted to having an affair with Charlie, and that she’d made the mistake of telling someone. And that someone just happened to be Daniel Curtis’s father, Ron. Mr Curtis was indiscreet and told one of his mates who then told someone else. It eventually got back to Sonia.’

The more James learned about the people of Kirkby Abbey, the more he was beginning to wonder if they had made a huge mistake by moving here.

The following hour or so was spent preparing dinner, drinking wine and trying to relax.

Annie knew that James wasn’t looking forward to playing host to her uncle, but he promised her he’d be on his best behaviour.

When six o’clock came and Bill still hadn’t turned up, she called him on his mobile. It went to voicemail so she left a message. By six-thirty, they were both becoming concerned.

Annie called The King’s Head and asked to be put through to his room. The landlady, Martha Grooms, said he had left the pub earlier after telling her he was spending the evening with an old pal in the nearby village of Ravenstonedale. Annie asked her to check if his car was still parked out back and she was told that it wasn’t.

By seven o’clock they accepted that he wouldn’t be coming and started on the dinner, though with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

‘I’m really worried,’ Annie said. ‘What if something’s happened to him? I just don’t believe he simply forgot about it.’

James shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s getting up to no good somewhere. You said yourself he was acting weird.’

As the evening wore on, Annie became increasingly concerned. She tried and failed to reach her uncle by phone several more times. Just before she and James went to bed at 11 p.m. she put in another call to The King’s Head and spoke to Martha again.

‘He still hasn’t arrived back,’ the woman said. ‘But he has a key so he’ll just let himself in through the accommodation entrance after we close the bar and restaurant.’

Annie eventually went to bed but struggled to sleep. She kept wondering where her Uncle Bill was and also why so many disturbing things were happening all at once in the village.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It’s almost midnight and most of the village is sleeping. But not me. I’m doing what I usually do at this time – walking the dog before sloping off to bed.

I’m a creature of habit, which is one of my many faults. But the truth is I enjoy this time alone with my precious Yorkie, Daisy. She doesn’t judge me, or find fault with everything I do. She’s loyal and loving and she never lets me down. Unlike some of the people in my life.

I take the same route as always, along the narrow pavement to the store that sells hiking and fishing equipment, then left over the little footbridge that crosses the stream.

The snow has been falling all evening and I’m sure the fells will be covered for the festive period. That’s good news for those who won’t need to get around. But in heavy snow the countryside can be treacherous, the roads impassable, and villages and towns are often completely cut off from the outside world.

I can hear the wind whimpering in the trees on the fellside, but there’s not much to see because the landscape has been consumed by the darkness.

I draw on my ciggy and expel a stream of smoke. Then I let Daisy off the lead. She runs around excitedly before crouching down and emptying her bowels.

It’s been a bad day but at last I’m feeling relaxed. Behind me silence has closed over the village like a shroud, and lights twinkle in some of the windows.

Suddenly Daisy starts barking at the ancient beech tree up ahead. The tree marks the point where we always turn around and head back towards home.

Daisy doesn’t usually react like this so I assume she’s spotted a squirrel or a fox. I call her back but she stays where she is, in a state of high excitement.

I drop my cigarette and walk towards her.

‘What’s up, girl?’ I say to her. ‘Has something creeped you out?’

When I get to within a few feet of the tree a figure steps out from behind it. A shiver grabs hold of my spine and I let out a sharp cry of alarm. The figure is ghostly and indistinct, and I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

I start to speak, but my words are cut off as the figure rushes towards me waving what looks like a long-bladed knife.

Before I can react an explosion of pain erupts in my chest and I hear a horrible scream issue from between my lips.

My legs give way and my eyes lose focus. But then I’m stabbed again, this time in the stomach, and I drop onto the snow like a sack of cement.

The last thing I hear before blacking out is a voice that says, ‘This is no more than you deserve.’

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