Michael Wood - The Hangman’s Hold

‘I haven’t done anything wrong!’

The man let go of the rope, and Joe fell back, hitting his head once again on the floor.

‘How can you say that? How can you deny what you’ve done? When you’re breathing your last breath, think of Rebecca.’

Joe’s eyes widened. That was a name he hadn’t heard in years. ‘No. Please,’ he wept. ‘I’ve got a family. Please. Don’t kill me.’

At the sight of Joe begging and pleading for his life, the Hangman smiled.

‘Mum, I feel sick.’

‘I told you not to eat all those fries.’

It was going dark by the time Karen and the children made their way from Meadowhall back home to Meersbrook. They’d had a great day, although when planning it, Karen hadn’t taken into account the annoyance of Saturday shoppers. She had felt a headache come on after ten minutes. The volume of The Lego Batman Movie hadn’t helped either. The burger in Oasis afterwards was tasty, but the wall of noise from those around her took the edge off her appetite. Jason, however, had delighted in finishing off everyone else’s fries. Now, he was paying the price. When she’d gone to the toilet and seen her reflection in the mirror she looked as if she’d aged ten years since arriving at Meadowhall. The mall sapped every ounce of energy from the moment you arrived. When the extension opened it would be hell on earth.

‘Have you had a good day, Jason?’ she asked, trying to distract him from feeling sick.

‘It’s been brilliant,’ he brightened up. ‘I can’t wait to tell Dad about the film. Do you think he’ll take me to see it again next weekend?’

‘I’m sure he will,’ Karen said smiling, knowing her husband was a big kid at heart and would probably enjoy The Lego Batman Movie even more than Jason did, if that was possible.

Karen turned the corner and pulled up in front of the house. She wondered why it was in darkness. Maybe Joe was planning to jump out and shout surprise. Jason would love that.

Jason climbed out of the back seat and ran to the house. The front door was unlocked and he went straight in. Karen could hear the calls for his father from the road. For a tiny child, he had a loud voice. Victoria and Esme helped Karen with the bags of shopping. She had just closed the boot when a glass-shattering scream came from the house. She dropped a bag and a bottle smashed. Red wine spilled out of the torn plastic and ran down the road. She froze as she looked at the open doorway of her home and saw her little boy staring at her. His face was pale, and he was shaking violently. Her mouth opened but she couldn’t speak. Her heart seemed to have stopped beating and her world stopped turning.

Matilda had been waiting for this phone call since last Saturday morning. Something at the back of her mind told her there would be a second victim. Brian Appleby had been hanged in what looked like an execution. Someone had obviously known about his past and decided he needed to pay with his life rather than just eight years in prison. If they had taken the trouble to research Brian, and set up such an elaborate and gruesome murder, they wouldn’t stop at one victim; others would be in the planning. One week later, Matilda had been proven correct.

In the car on the way, Aaron filled Matilda in on the details. It sounded frighteningly similar to the Brian Appleby murder. The victim, in this case, was Joe Lacey, who was not on the sex offender’s register but was known to the police.

On the 1st of January 1997, following a New Year’s Eve party with his girlfriend, Karen, who later became his wife, he dropped off Karen at her flat and drove home. It was nine o’clock in the morning and Joe had been drinking since early afternoon the previous day. He knocked down and killed eight-year-old Rebecca Branson. He didn’t stop.

Later that day, the police called to his flat and arrested him for causing death by dangerous driving. He was breathalyzed and found to be five times over the legal limit. He was sentenced to twelve years in prison, but was released in 2004 after seven years, aged only 24.

Since then he had gone on to marry Karen and have three children. His life had returned to normal, which was more than can be said for the parents of Rebecca Branson.

It was pitch-dark by the time the pool car pulled up outside the semi-detached house in Meersbrook. Crime scene tape surrounded the house and a uniformed officer was outside the front door. The usual gawkers were standing on the pavement, arms folded firmly across their chests to stave off the cold, a look of angst and worry on their faces. Secretly, they were enjoying the change from the norm. This beat watching cheap reality shows on television.

DC Faith Easter climbed out of the car from behind the wheel. ‘Bloody hell it’s freezing. I wish I’d brought my gloves.’

Sian Mills almost slipped on a patch of black ice. ‘I’m going to have to get some better grips on these shoes.’

Matilda led the way to the house. She was presented with a white paper suit from PC Harrison and slipped into it with ease.

‘What the hell is that?’ Matilda asked sticking her head around the corner into the dining room.

‘Wow, that’s so cool,’ Faith said. ‘It’s a Minion.’

‘What’s a Minion?’

‘It’s a PC who stands guard in freezing temperatures,’ came the reply from PC Harrison outside.

Both Sian and Faith laughed.

‘It’s a character from a film,’ Sian corrected.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Matilda said.

‘We’re in here,’ a call came out from the garage.

It was accessed from a door in the hallway next to the kitchen. Artificial white light from floodlights filled the freezing cold room. An Audi was parked in the middle, shelves full of oddities lined both sides. At the top of the room, three steps made from MDF led down to the garage. From a hook in the ceiling hung the lifeless body of Joe Lacey.

Standing on a stepladder next to the body was a blue-suited Adele Kean. ‘Good evening, Matilda.’

‘Evening, Adele,’ Matilda replied, looking directly at the hanging man. He had a white pillowcase over his head. The rope resembled the one used to hang Brian Appleby, and Matilda counted thirteen turns in the noose. This was definitely no coincidence. She swallowed hard and forced down the bile rising in her stomach. It wasn’t the sight of a hanging man that made her feel sick, it was the thought of a killer striking again.

‘His feet aren’t touching the floor; would the drop be enough to kill him?’ Matilda asked, remembering her conversation with Simon Browes at Brian Appleby’s post-mortem.

‘His feet are only eight inches off the ground. He could have been strung up rather than pushed off the top step. At a guess, I’d say asphyxiation.’

‘Who found him?’

Sian entered the garage, took one look at the hanging body, then down to her notepad. ‘According to the first responder, it was the victim’s son, Jason. He’s only five. In fact, today is his fifth birthday.’

‘Bloody hell, he’s not going to forget this birthday in a long while.’

‘The mother, Karen, was out with all three kids. Joe was getting the house ready for a birthday party. They came home, Jason comes rushing in and finds him hanging.’

‘What time did they leave this morning?’

‘About ten o’clock. Ish.’

‘And what about when they came back home?’

‘Around five o’clock.’

‘Adele?’ Matilda asked.

‘You know I don’t like time of death questions.’

‘After ten o’clock this morning?’

‘Yes. I’d say anything from noon until the time he was found. That’s a guess. Listen to what the neighbours say and go with that,’ she warned.