Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

over Shaw’s shoulder? Did he want to hear it secondhand so maybe it didn’t seem so in his face?

It’s like he doesn’t want to be hurt.

“Thomas’ penis was left intact, though,” Shaw said.

“The only discrepancy apart from the ages being different?”

Shaw flicked back and forth between the files. “Seems so. Also, there were prior offences for the earlier murder victims. Our Anita had none—and we don’t know who our second victim is yet to be able to check on his past. Emily had been brought in several times for soliciting. Thomas had been up for drugs—selling them.”

“So it seems Anita and our man were chosen for their resemblance.”

Shaw nodded. “The kid’s name is Gordon. Um, ah, Gordon Varley. So she registered him with your dad’s surname.” He winced, keeping his attention on the screen. “Not a suspect during that time. He was apparently staying with his grandmother—Emily’s mother—for those two days and nights. She verified his alibi, saying he always stayed there for those two nights every year since he’d been a younger lad, and they’d kept up the tradition. Says something about it being Emily and Thomas’ wedding anniversary at that time. No murderer found. It’s been put down to Thomas killing his wife then killing himself. Apparently, they had a volatile relationship.”

“Convenient way to put a case to bed.”

“But maybe the only logical conclusion the police had at the time. You know how it goes. But in Marla’s report, she said if people jabbed themselves with a needle in the back of the neck, with that amount of heroin, they’d nod out and drop the syringe. No syringe found in any of the cases. So, it’s murder for the first canal man, too?”

“So are we to believe that this Gordon…ah, Varley…killed our two latest victims? Like, he’s reliving their deaths by recreating them? He was that traumatised by the originals that something has sparked him off sixteen years later?”

“We can assume so, yes.” Or he killed all of them.

“And is there any mention of my father being his father, too, other than the surname?”

“No, but I’ll try to find out for sure.” Shaw picked up the phone. “Denton, I need you to look into the birth of a Gordon Varley.” No problem saying the surname now that the rest of the team had been given the shocking news. He reeled off Gordon’s birthdate from Emily’s file. “I need to know if his father is listed on his birth certificate. That would be William Varley with the same birthdate as was used on our mystery man’s Facebook profile.” He put the phone down. Turned to Burgess. “Thought it better that you didn’t have to do that.”

“Thanks. Again. Seems I’m saying that a lot lately.”

“It’s what I’m here for. And I’ll just search for Gordon’s present address now.” Shaw smiled. “All right?”

“Yeah.” Burgess got up and made more coffee.

He’ll run out of pods at this rate.

“Want another?” Burgess asked.

“If you can spare it.” Shaw grinned. “Before we go off to this address once it pops up, maybe we should detour to Tesco. Buy some more.” Put off meeting your half-brother so you’ve got more time to get yourself used to the idea.

“We’ll go to Tesco after. We should visit him as soon as possible.”

Shaw nodded. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

Chapter Twenty-One

It didn’t feel right, watching the tramps again. Gordon should have been at home enjoying the rest of his week’s holiday, not standing here freezing his bollocks off. The beanie and his jacket helped, but being so still meant the cold seeped into the core of him. And the wind zooming through the tunnel wasn’t helping matters either. Still, he had to select a man now or risk his future turning into a stretch of bleakness and wretchedness instead of happiness.

There was a man who would do nicely once he had the wig on. He appeared similar, although his mouth might be a little too wide. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though—beggars, ha—and Gordon was all but begging here. The tramp had been listening once when Gordon had approached The Man Point Two, even having the cheek to butt in on the conversation and say he wouldn’t mind a hot shower and a warm bed for the night if the offer was open to him, too. It hadn’t been, but now it was.

He approached The Man Point Three, who waved as Gordon drew near. He clearly recognised him, then. That was fine. So long as the dirty so-and-so went with him and he died, it didn’t matter if the police snooped around and were given Gordon’s description. All that did matter was the calm and wellbeing. Whether he spent it in prison was neither here nor there anymore. Just being happy was what he needed.

“You can live in a castle with all the money in the world, Gordy, and still be as miserable as sin.” Gran, a superb and astute woman. “But if you’re content inside, it doesn’t matter where you live. How you live. If a person is content, everything else falls into place.”

“Are you content, Gran?”

“No, but I’m hoping to be one day, when you’re grown up and out of her house, because once you’re out of there, you’ll be content.”

 

He hadn’t been, not until they had been disposed of the first time. But Gran had been right. He’d lived in contentment for sixteen years—apart from a blip when Gran had died—and although he’d expected more time than that, it had been wonderful.

He had limited hours for dealing with The Man Point Three, and daylight wasn’t ideal to be doing what was needed, although the afternoon was trundling along and darkness would be descending pretty soon. But it had to be done today so the dates were correct—he could not go past midnight.

“Hi,” Gordon said, smiling wide