Free Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows by Shirley Wells Page A

your mum,’ he’d said in a matter-of-fact way. ‘She’s a whore. A dirty, filthy whore.’
    He had been seven years old, too young to know the facts of the life, but no one called his mother dirty or filthy. Micky Muldoon hadn’t done it again.
    His fist had connected with Micky’s face and the blood had spurted from his nose.
    ‘Hey, I was only tellin yer what me mam said,’ Micky had yelled.
    That was the first time he’d felt the rage and, lucky for Micky Muldoon, he’d raced off to the woods to be alone with it …
    He’d soon had to accept that Micky was telling the truth. His mum was a whore. She took money from men and let them do filthy, disgusting things to her. He’d seen dozens, no hundreds of men over the years. Men like Rodney Hill.
    Had they honestly believed that Hill was Valentine? It was an insult.
    He could feel his heart racing with anger, and he had to take a few steadying breaths to calm himself. No good getting angry about it. Hill didn’t matter. Valentine was the one they were after. Valentine was the one who had outwitted them. Valentine - as cunny and wily as a fox.
    For two pins But,
    no. Later, he’d leave the card for her. It was fun playing games with her.
    When he tired of that, he would kill her. That would give the celebrated Detective Chief Inspector Trentham something to think about.

Chapter Ten
    Jill was awake early and she dressed quickly, pulling on black jeans and a shirt. She wanted a quick breakfast before heading off to read Michael’s confession. No way was she doing it for Max’s benefit; she was curious. She was also in a good mood. Dance to the Music had won by a short head last night.
    She was halfway down the stairs when she spotted the envelope lying on the mat. It was too early for the postman to have called. This envelope had been hand-delivered.
    Just like the other one.
    Blood began pounding in her ears. Pull yourself together, she instructed herself sharply. Some harmless crank was trying to frighten her, that’s all. The strict lecture didn’t help.
    She walked down the stairs and was about to pick it up when she heard a car slow to a stop outside. A car door slammed and she went to the window to look out. Max was unfastening his seatbelt and getting out.
    Relieved, she stepped over the envelope and held the door open for him.
    ‘I’ve just come from the vicarage,’ he said, ‘and thought I’d see if you wanted a lift in.’
    ‘Oh, er, yes. Thanks.’ She showed him the envelope still lying on the mat. “I expect that’s another photo - or something.’
    He scowled at it, opened a pair of tiny tweezers that hung from his key ring, and carefully picked it up. There was no writing on the envelope. No name, no address, nothing.
    ‘Of course,’ he said drily, ‘it could be a note from the milkman.’
    He sliced the envelope open and, using the tip of thumb and forefinger, pulled out the card.
    ‘Shit!’
    Jill could have echoed that.
    Inside the envelope was a Valentine card. It mocked the crisp, cold November morning. There was no message, just a printed: One day you’ll be mine.
    “I don’t like this, Jill. I really don’t like it.’
    ‘I’m not thinking of placing an order for champagne and party poppers myself.’
    ‘How do we know it’s not Valentine playing games with you?’
    ‘We don’t,’ she allowed, ‘but even if it is, he’s unlikely to hurt me.’
    ‘He’s put seven women in the morgue.’
    ‘Yes, but all prostitutes. If it is Valentine, and I can’t imagine it is, he won’t kill me. He’ll want to show me how clever he is. And anyway, why now? Why not a year ago?
    No, it can’t be Valentine. It’ll be someone playing a sick joke on me. Someone who wants to remind me that I got it wrong.’
    ‘We’ll check it out,’ Max said, ‘and we’ll have a look to see who’s been released from prison recently. Think back over your old cases. We’ll have a word with Rodney Hill’s sister, too.’
    ‘It won’t be