Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

multitask. “File’s on it’s way. Yeah, with the line from American Pie. They were all nurses, or involved in caring for people. The sheriff was pretty sure he knew who the killer was, but before he could arrest him, he took off and disappeared.”

“Who did he suspect?”

“Simon Clarence.”

I frowned. “Simon Clarence? Doesn’t sound…”

“I know. But his mom was local, his dad wasn’t. His dad was from Barbados. Seems mom was couple of cans short of a six-pack, and dad liked to use his belt, on the whole family, not just the kids. Violent man, rap sheet for assault, use of a deadly weapon…”

“I get the idea. He was cruel to the wife and the kids.”

“Yup, sheriff tried to intervene a few times but they all told him to take a hike. Mom died in suspicious circumstances when Simon was ten, probably witnessed it, if you ask me. Not much more to tell. They were kind of travelers, neo-hippies, moved around a bit. Simon was born in the U.K…”

“So he had dual nationality?”

“Yup. Dad was a British citizen, Simon was born in the U.K. and they came back to the States when he was just two, settled in Colorado.”

“And he disappeared, what, 2002, 2003?”

“2002. So did he show up in the U.K.?”

“He showed up in London, killed four women and then vanished off the face of the Earth.”

“Maybe he’s in Barbados.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t think so.”

“You going to let me in?”

“Not yet, but soon. Thanks, Bernie, I owe you.”

“I lost count how much you owe me. If I ever call it in, I’ll die of alcohol poisoning.”

We promised to catch up soon and I hung up. Dehan appeared in the bedroom doorway and looked at me with sleepy eyes behind lots of hair. She shook her head at me and went away to the shower. Then the phone rang again.

“Stone, Chiddester here. It’s not much help, I’m afraid. Fine work on your part but…”

“Simon Clarence approached the Crown Prosecution Service through defense counsel…?”

He was silent. Then, “How could you possibly have known that?”

“Ah, you know, eliminate the impossible… So what have you got?”

“Well, I didn’t know his name. The file is sealed and there is only a very brief abstract available. It seems this, um, Clarence had started to see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist was so disturbed by what he learnt, and by what he was reading in the press, putting two and two together, as it were, that he felt he had no choice but to violate patient confidentiality. However, rather than go to the police, being a somewhat eminent fellow with some pull in the establishment, he arranged a series of meetings with a judge and the Director of Public Prosecutions, and sectioned the chap, to be detained at Her Majesty’s leisure at Goodnestone Park.”

“What is that, a high security mental institution?”

“Precisely.”

I shook my head. “That’s not the full picture, Chiddester. There was somebody else involved. Let me see if I’m right. Either his psychiatrist arranged, or the judge appointed, but at some point during the proceedings Simon Clarence was given counsel.”

“Oh, yes, naturally.”

“Does counsel’s name appear on the abstract?”

“Of course.”

“Can you send me a scan of that abstract? Once I have read it, I can give you the name of the man who killed your daughter.”

“Good Lord! You mean it wasn’t Sadiq?”

“I told you it wasn’t.”

He grunted. “All right, the scan is on its way. But I’ll need convincing, Stone. My money is still on Sadiq Hassan.”

“OK, just don’t do anything rash. Listen, I need one more favor from you.”

“It’s you who are doing me a favor, dear boy. If I can help, I will.”

“I need to visit Clarence at Goodnestone, either as a friend of the family or as American cops clearing up unsolved American murders. Whatever you think will work. Can you pull strings?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He hung up. My phone pinged to tell me an email had arrived and I opened it and read it. It told me exactly what I expected it to tell me. So I went to the bathroom, where Dehan was looking at herself in a large mirror, wet and wrapped in many white towels. “I found the Butcher of Whitechapel.”

She glanced at me in the mirror. “OK, what’s the punch line?”

I shook my head. “No punch line. His name is Simon Clarence. He’s in a high security mental institution called Goodnestone Park. He’s been there since 2003.”

She turned to stare at me from among her towels. “Are you kidding me? How come Harry didn’t know?”

“It was kept quiet because the way it was handled, though probably wise, might have caused a public outcry. The file was sealed and his identity was not revealed. He was sectioned and the Home Secretary instructed the police to stand down on the investigation.”

“I lie down for a siesta and you solve world hunger. How?”

“It was the suit.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I see that now.”

“I’ll explain properly in the car.”

“Oh, the car, right… What car?”

“We are going to visit Simon Clarence in Goodnestone Park.”

She sighed. “Does Harry know?”

I mouthed something obscene at her.

She laughed and turned back to the mirror. “Well, that’s true. So what about Katie? How does she tie in to all this?”

“We may never know,” I said vaguely as I thumbed a text message on my phone. “On the other hand, we may find out tonight.”

The phone rang as I pressed send.

“Stone.”

“Chiddester here. I pulled some strings and they’re expecting your visit at six. I said it was an unofficial fact-finding mission sanctioned by the Home Office to help families in the States find some closure. I believe that’s the popular term. Anyway, I thought that