Death's Cold Hand by J.E. Mayhew (kiss me liar novel english txt) 📗

The phone beeped and Terry leapt up. A text read:

You are in danger. Lay low for a while.

He looked at Noel. The old man had his back to him while he fussed over some tins. Terry didn’t think Noel was a threat. Graves hadn’t taken over the old man. He was pretty sure. He’d met him at random on the road. The old man was being kind. He’d do as he was told and lay low for a while. When it was dark, he could decide what to do next.

Chapter 33

Although she had a swish office in Heswall, Nicola Norton lived in a small, terraced house to the north of Port Sunlight at the Bebington end. Blake had phoned her and agreed that he would call in to discuss her involvement in the case. Standing outside the house now, he found himself wondering if the original occupants looked over the road and envied the Port Sunlight employees living in the bigger houses or was that something they aspired to?

She answered the door almost as soon as Blake knocked. She wore black leggings and her long, golden hair spilled down over a baggy sweater. “DCI Blake, come on in,” she said. “You look surprised about something.”

The house had kept many of its original features, with high skirtings and ornate ceiling cornicing. But Norton had put her own stamp on the place, too with subtle pastel paints and soft furnishings. “To be honest, Ms Norton, I had expected you to live over by your office rather than on this side of the Wirral.”

“Call me Nicola. This was my mother’s house, DCI Blake. I grew up here. When she passed away, I inherited it. My business seems to haemorrhage cash and the Heswall office is so expensive to run. It’s cheap, but full of memories, not all of them happy.”

Blake nodded. “I know what you mean, I live in my parents’ old house too. I keep meaning to get organised enough to sell it and move on but…”

“Life’s too busy. Things get in the way. Yeah, tell me about it,” Nicola said. “Would you like a coffee?”

Blake followed her into the kitchen. “You worked quite closely with Terry White, then.”

“I did, Inspector. He was a troubled soul. Full of guilt for surviving, full of anger at what happened to his friends and so confused.”

“This condition that he has, the delusion. Can you explain that to me?”

“Fregoli delusion,” Nicola said, stirring the coffee. “Terry sustained a serious brain injury when he was caught in an explosion. He’d had psychological problems before but doctors think that the injury exacerbated an already existing condition. Put simply, Terry had trouble recognising faces and so would attribute the same identity to different people.”

“This Corporal Graves character for instance,” Blake said.

“Exactly. For whatever reason, Terry had a thing about Graves. He believed that Graves bullied him and had it in for him. There’s no written evidence to support this but it was certainly how Terry felt. When Graves died in the explosion, somehow, Terry convinced himself that he wasn’t actually dead and that somehow, he was possessing the bodies of people close to Terry.”

“To what end?”

“To ruin Terry’s life and ultimately kill him.”

“It seems incredible that anyone could believe this…”

“That’s why he was on anti-psychotics, Inspector. It’s hard for us to understand or empathise because it seems so bizarre but for Terry, it’s cold logic. He believes that each time he kills and leaves an effigy, part of Graves’ soul is trapped in it. Terry has a twin for that effigy which he destroys, thereby wiping out part of Graves’ being.”

“Then eventually, he’ll have finished Graves off, surely?”

“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you, Inspector? But it doesn’t work like that. I’m pretty sure Terry will convince himself that somehow Graves escaped the trap and someone else will have to go.”

Blake sipped his drink. “I can’t understand where he’s gone. Do you think he might leave the Wirral? Just run away?”

“I think that’s unlikely. Terry is still fighting Graves and he sees it as a mission. I don’t think he’d run. It would be like deserting his post. Besides, his problem is in his head. Even if he were to run, then Graves would just pop up wherever he was.”

“Jeez, it’s not like the Wirral is a big place. Where can he be?”

“Someone might be sheltering him. It might be worth re-emphasising how dangerous he can be. Of course, there is the other possibility…”

“Which is?”

“Terry’s brain injury left him with epilepsy, too. Normally, his medication would control it, but he hasn’t got any of that with him. He might have had a seizure somewhere and be injured, disorientated or worse.”

“If you can think of anywhere he might be drawn to, anywhere he might go. Because, to be honest, we’re stumped and from what you say, it looks like it’s only a matter of time before he kills again.”

Nicola Norton bit her lip and looked thoughtful. “One thing that does come to mind. Terry’s focus has certainly been Pro-Vets and that’s partly because he works there but his paranoia seems to be focused on the charity staff. Or the more senior ones. Should there be another victim, I would be most concerned about one of Paul Travis’s drinking buddies, Barry and Dave but mainly on George Owens. He was Paul’s best friend and in Terry’s mind, most susceptible to control by Graves. If I were you, I’d keep a close watch on George Owens.

*****

George Owens stood in the middle of his untidy living room, looking at his phone. The police had just called. In one way, it had been a stroke of luck that White had attacked that tiresome DC Ollerthwaite but he had to think what to do now. Things were getting more complicated.

Ufford had got what was coming to him, that was certain. The twisting little runt should never have gone on the fiddle like that. He was always taking things that weren’t his.