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  INFERNO

  A DCI James Hardy Thriller

  Jay Gill

  Copyright © Jay Gill 2019

  The right of Jay Gill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or transmitted into any retrieval system, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Hardy returns in Killing Shadows

  Chapter 1

  Inspector Hardy series

  About the Author

  Enjoy James Hardy bonus reading

  Chapter One

  Friday, 14 August 2015

  Helena Hardy scooped up her handbag and house keys and pressed the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she shut the front door and locked it. She waited for the number she’d called to go to voicemail.

  “It’s me, again. That crazy-hot woman you share a bed with. This is a reminder, Detective Chief Inspector James Hardy, that it’s date night tonight. I haven’t booked a table because I know you’re busy, so you’ll probably be late, and I don’t want to sit in a restaurant alone looking embarrassed. That’s not a dig about our last date, I promise.” Helena chuckled. “Anyway, Alice and Faith will be at your parents’ house, and I’ll be cooking your favourite. I also have something very special planned for dessert, if you know what I mean. James, I promise – you won’t want to miss it.” She chuckled again. “Text me, darling, when you get a chance. Let me know you got this message and what time you’ll be home. I’ll be waiting.”

  Helena’s face was full of smiles as she tucked her phone into her handbag. She thought how funny it would be if James played the voicemail back on loudspeaker in the office. She could imagine him fumbling around, frantically trying to mute it.

  Right now, though, Helena needed to get a few ingredients for their romantic meal. It was a short distance to the shops, and for the first time in a couple of days it wasn’t raining. She looked at her car and was tempted to drive but decided it would be good to walk, get some exercise. She glanced over the roof of the car and noticed a man across the street. He was wearing a dark-blue or black hoodie and pretending not to watch her. As she watched him, he looked away and started walking. He was talking to himself and scratching his right arm.

  Helena watched as the man fleetingly glanced back at her before he picked up his pace. She sighed. It would take longer, but she decided to turn around and walk the other way around the block to the shops. She shouldered her handbag and set off. Before turning the corner at the end of the road she looked back over her shoulder. The man was gone.

  She had just rounded the corner when she realised she’d forgotten the list of ingredients for her special meal with James. “You idiot, Helena Hardy,” she muttered to herself as she searched pointlessly through her handbag. She could picture exactly where she’d left it – right on the worktop beside her pen. For a moment she considered carrying on without it; she felt sure she could remember most of it. But after running through the list in her mind and knowing she’d come up short, she decided to go back. After all, she was only a few hundred yards from home.

  As she approached the house, she unzipped her handbag and reached inside for her house keys. She rooted around for the keys and looked down into the bag. “Gotcha,” she murmured. As she looked up, she sensed someone approaching from behind. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure moving between the parked cars at the side of the road.

  Helena spun around and, in an instant, the man in the hoodie was in front of her. Her hand shot into her handbag for her pepper spray, but she felt the bag being pulled away. She tugged back, then thought better of it.

  “Take the bag,” said Helena. She shrugged the strap off her shoulder and released the bag from her grip. He snatched it away from her.

  “Helena Hardy?” said the man.

  “How do you know my name?” Helena edged away, moving carefully along the pavement and closer to the house. He looked in a bad way. Sores on his face and sunken eyes suggested he was on something. She spoke slowly and clearly. “Just take the bag and go. I don’t care about the bag. There’s money in it. It’s yours. Okay?”

  The man matched her step for step. “You’re the copper’s wife, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. My husband is a policeman. That doesn’t matter. There’s money in the bag. I’m not worried about the money – take it,” repeated Helena. She glanced over her shoulder; she wasn’t far from the house. She felt the house keys in her hand. She wanted to run and hoped he’d turn and run in the opposite direction, but, instead, he kept coming.

  Helena inched backward, and the man reached into the pocket of his hoodie. Her heart, which was already pounding in her chest, went up a gear as she saw the dull metal blade of a knife appear in his hand. She had to act first. This was no time for self-doubt.

  Helena screamed and yelled at the top of her lungs. As the hooded man turned to look around, Helena took two strides forward and hit him in the face with a palm strike, just the way she’d been taught by James and at her self-defence classes. As he staggered back,
stunned, she reached in and clawed at his face and eyes before following through with a kick. She’d hoped to hit between his legs, but he blocked her by twisting his body. Even so, his leg buckled and he crumpled to his knees.

  Helena took her chance to run. As she ran, she fumbled with the keys, desperately trying to find the one for the front door. Just as she found it, the bunch of keys slipped from her hand and fell to the pavement. She looked over her shoulder and could see that the hooded man was back on his feet and bearing down on her. With a sob of frustration and fear, Helena made a grab for the keys but missed them. Then her hair was yanked up and back, bringing her face to face with him.

  Helena gasped as he plunged the knife into her stomach. She stared at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he pulled the knife out partway and then plunged it once again deep into her belly. Then he did it again and again and again.

  Finally, he pulled out the blade and released his grip on her hair. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the pavement.

  He knelt beside her and looked at her. “That’s a message for your copper husband, bitch. He needs to back off. Got it? Back off.”

  He looked up, startled, at the sound of shouts from across the street. He stuffed the knife back in his pocket, leapt to his feet and ran, grabbing Helena’s handbag as he went.

  A woman appeared beside her, breathless, she crouched down. “Helena, it’s me, Karen, from next door. Don’t worry, love. An ambulance is on its way. The police too. Don’t try to move.”

  “Call James,” said Helena. “Karen, please, call him. You have his number.”

  Pointing to an elderly male neighbour, Karen said, “Keep talking to her. I’m going to call her husband.” Karen took off her jumper and placed it under Helena’s head. “I’ll be right back. I promise. You just stay strong. Don’t close your eyes. He’ll be here before you know it.”

  “Thank you,” said Helena. The elderly man knelt beside her and she closed her eyes. She could picture Karen phoning James’s mobile, the call going to voicemail the way it had done for her. She hoped Karen didn’t waste time leaving a message but instead dialled the landline number she had for him. It’s my turn to ruin date night, thought Helena. She lifted a hand from the wound and looked at the blood. I’m not going to be able to do the school run and nursery run. Her mind ran through a list of standby mums. Then she remembered that James’s mum, Nana Hardy, was picking them up. That’s good. I don’t want Alice and little Faith worrying.

  Helena focused on waiting for James, her soulmate, her best friend. She knew he’d come. He’d help her; he’d sort this out.

  Over the hum of the gathered crowd, she finally heard James’s voice. At first she thought she’d imagined it, then she saw his face. My handsome husband, she thought. James looks scared. Don’t worry, my love. It’ll all be okay. I just need to close my eyes for a bit. I’m tired. I just need to rest.

  Chapter Two

  Monday, 29 July 2019

  Governor Lloyd Trent stepped into the cell and looked down at the prisoner, who lay on his side clutching his stomach and moaning. Staff had informed him that the bouts of pain had become more frequent, and Trent knew he was duty-bound to ensure the prisoner received proper medical attention. That said, he intended to postpone that decision for as long as he could.

  Trent knew all there was to know about the piece of shit in front of him. His name was Edward Fischer, though at the time of his arrest he’d been going by the last name Richter, his mother’s maiden name. Seems he thought it had a nice ironic ring to it, what with Richter meaning judge in German. His parents were both from Hamburg, Germany, and the family had moved to England when he was four years old; his parents had divorced when he was eight. He had grown up with his mother, Christa, on the poor estates of London. She had never remarried. Died from lung cancer when Edward was nineteen.

  The path that had led Fischer to end up residing in Trent’s maximum-security prison had started with petty crime at the age of eleven. Over the years, Fischer had moved up the criminal ladder, progressing to high-end burglary in the more affluent areas of London. And when that thrill had become too routine, it appeared he had turned his hand to serial murder.

  Prison Officer Terry Farley filled the cell doorway, his eyes moving between Fischer and his boss.

  “Give us a minute, will you, Farley,” said Governor Trent. It wasn’t a question.

  Farley hesitated. “Sir? I …”

  “I want a moment with the prisoner. Fischer knows better than to do anything stupid. We have an understanding, don’t we, Fischer?”

  Fischer slowly moved his legs around and sat up with his back against the cell wall. His face contorted with pain, his hands gripping his emaciated stomach. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll be right outside, sir,” said Farley.

  Governor Trent turned to the chair by the desk and sat down opposite Fischer. The usually toned and muscular body of the prisoner had been replaced by a bony figure whose clothes hung off him. Unkempt and unshaven, he looked like he’d aged a good ten years. Trent displayed no concern.

  “Why am I here, Fischer?”

  Fischer tried to sit up straighter before speaking, the movement causing him to wince with pain. “I’m not right. I’ve been telling you lot for over a week now. I’ve got no appetite. When I do manage to eat something, I can’t keep it down. And my stomach is getting worse. When I move, it feels like I’ve swallowed a bag of nails. It’s excruciating.”

  “The doctor says he can’t find anything wrong with you.”

  “I know. But look at me. Does it look like there’s nothing wrong?” Fischer held out a skinny, tattooed arm.

  Trent sucked his teeth and tilted his head, then leaned forward and spoke in a low, clear voice. “You’re in my prison because you’re a sick bastard who sliced up young women to the point where they had to be identified through dental records. Forensic evidence put you at the scene with two of the victims, yet you won’t give the families of those poor young women the closure they deserve by admitting to the crimes. You still maintain your innocence.”

  “I am innocent. I was framed—”

  “Let me finish,” growled Trent. “You come into my prison and immediately kill three of my inmates. At great expense and inconvenience, I’m now forced to keep you away from the general population. My point is, if it was up to me, I’d leave you to die a slow, agonising death here in this cell. And while you were writhing around on the floor, I’d invite the families of your victims to come and watch while I piss on you. Do you understand?”

  “I need tests. Proper hospital tests.”

  Trent got to his feet. He lifted his leg and put his foot on the hand Fischer held over his stomach. He pressed down. Fischer gritted his teeth and stifled the cry of pain, not wanting to give Trent the satisfaction.

  Officer Farley appeared at the door. “Everything all right, sir?”

  Trent removed his foot. His eyes fixed on Fischer, he said, “Yes. Yes. I’m trying to establish the extent of the problem.”

  Farley watched as Fischer doubled over. “Shall I get the doctor?”

  “Yes. Get the doctor. Tell him to increase Fischer’s painkillers. If he’s no better in a week, I’ll review the situation and decide whether he should get an outside evaluation. We’re not sending this piece of shit to hospital any sooner than need be. Understood?”

  Chapter Three

  Afternoon walks across clifftops with Sandy – who spends most of her time nose down, tail in the air, searching for rabbits – are one of the great joys of our having moved to the coast. There’s far more open space out here than in the city, and the opportunity to go outside and find time to reflect, while surrounded by incredible natural landscapes, is a real incentive to get out and about.

  The car park, which was bare chalkstone where the grass had been worn away, was empty except for my car and a sports car, which was parked close to mine. You’ve got the whole empty car park and you had to park so close? I thou
ght.

  I opened the back of my car and Sandy knew what was next. She looked around, probably wondering if she could make a break for it. “Come on. Up you jump.” She wasn’t ready to leave; never is. “Come on, girl.” Sandy looked at me then reluctantly did as requested. “Good, girl.” I rubbed her over with her towel. She tried to lick my face. “Sorry to break it to you, but you stink. Time for another bath, I think.” Sandy put her paw on my arm and tilted her head. “Sorry, no debating it.”

  As I rounded the car to get to the driver’s side, the door of the sports car opened and prevented me opening mine. I stepped back to let the person out. Nobody got out.

  I walked up to the open door and peered inside. A young woman in a cashmere sweater and short skirt smiled at me. She pointed a manicured finger towards the cliff edge.