The kill list, p.1
The Kill List, page 1
Praise for Nadine Matheson
‘This book is gruesomely good’
Lesley Kara, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Rumour and Who Did You Tell?
‘The chilling storyline, intense characters, vivid prose, and unflinching crime scenes make Matheson the heir apparent to Mo Hayder and Thomas Harris. Smashing!’
J.T. Ellison, New York Times bestselling author
‘Matheson writes sentences like roses, lovely and bristling with thorns … Matheson’s voice is exciting, urgent … and, now more than ever, vital’
A.J. Finn, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window
‘So tense and dark. It has a real Silence of the Lambs vibe, and Peter Olivier is my new Hannibal Lecter. Brilliant’
Lisa Hall, author of Between You and Me
‘Elegantly grim and irresistibly gruesome. And I could not turn the pages fast enough. The talented Nadine Matheson skillfully balances complex characters with a relentless story – this is a page-turner of the highest order’
Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of The Murder List
‘Move over, Hannibal Lecter, there’s a new serial killer on the block in this awesome debut from Nadine Matheson. The Jigsaw Man will have you in pieces. Literally’
David Jackson, author of The Resident
‘A spellbinding game of cat and mouse … with chilling echoes of Thomas Harris’s The Silence of the Lambs’
Daily Mail
‘Not for the faint-hearted … Expertly paced and plotted … You will need to leave the lights on’
Platinum
‘If you like your crime on the gruesome side, this will certainly satisfy’
Heat
‘With a wit that complements her dark subject matter, Matheson writes superbly … A book to make you think, feel – and jump out of your chair’
Daily Mirror
NADINE MATHESON was born and raised in Deptford and now practises as a criminal defence lawyer. She won the City University Crime Writing competition, and she has an MA in Creative Writing. The Jigsaw Man was her first crime novel and was loved by readers around the world. It was shortlisted for the Dead Good Reader and the Adult Diverse Book Awards in 2022 and it has been translated into fifteen languages.
Nadine is also the host of the podcast, The Conversation with Nadine Matheson. For more information about Nadine and her writing, visit her website at www.nadinematheson.com, sign up for her mailing list, or follow her on X @nadinematheson, and on Instagram @queennads.
Also by Nadine Matheson
The Jigsaw Man
The Binding Room
Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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HarperCollinsPublishers
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This edition 2024
1
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2024
Copyright © Nadine Matheson 2024
Nadine Matheson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008548438
Ebook Edition © May 2024 ISBN: 9780008548452
Version 2024-05-07
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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008548438
To my brothers, Gavin & Jason. Because you’re cool.
Contents
Cover
Praise
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
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
Acknowledgements
Extract
Extract
About the Publisher
1
16 October 1996
Central Criminal Court
Old Bailey, London
‘Do you know that you’re sitting about seventy metres from Dead Man’s Walk?’ asked Detective Sergeant Rhimes. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his freshly dry-cleaned suit trousers as he walked into the cell and looked down at Andrew Streeter. ‘Seventy short metres,’ Rhimes repeated.
Streeter dragged himself along the aged wooden bench, which had been engraved with the initials and incomprehensible doodles left by defendants who had come before him. A bluish hue had spread across the white, tightened skin of Streeter’s knuckles. He clasped his hands tightly and kept his head bent forward as though he was in prayer.
‘Can you imagine leaving this cell, walking along Dead Man’s Walk, begging and pleading to God to grant you leniency? Literally pleading for your life and then the next thing you know, you’re in court watching the judge as he reaches for a black cap and places it on top of his wig.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ Streeter said quietly.
Rhimes slammed his hand hard against the tiled wall above Streeter’s head, ignoring his plea. ‘And that’s when you knew,’ he paused, ‘you knew that you were going to have to walk back down those stairs, along the stone path, back down Dead Man’s Walk, step into a cold square where the hangman would be waiting with your noose.’
‘You know it wasn’t me.’
Rhimes grabbed a fistful of Streeter’s hair, pulling his head back. ‘That’s what you deserve. The noose. A rope breaking every bone in your pathetic neck.’
‘Let go of me,’ Streeter said, his voice strained as the tendons and muscles in his neck grew taut. His eyes began to water.
‘You’re not getting what you deserve.’
Rhimes let go and took a step back. He could feel his heart beating angrily against his chest. He tried to control his breathing as he inhaled the sickening odour of Streeter’s fear-infused sweat and the lingering smell of excrement left from the previous occupant of the cell.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Streeter said. He scurried further along the bench and pushed himself into a corner of the cell.
‘Just admit it,’ Rhimes said. He pulled Streeter up from the bench. ‘That’s all I want. That’s all you need to do. Admit it.’ Rhimes put his hands around Streeter’s neck and squeezed. Streeter’s eyes bulged, the pressuring increasing on his carotid arteries. The tiny blood vessels in his eyes began to burst as he clawed at Rhimes’s hands.
‘Admit it,’ Rhimes repeated, releasing the pressure a little.
The pained singular word was barely audible, but Rhimes heard it.
‘No.’
Rhimes released his grip and watched Streeter fall to his knees, violently coughing as he tried to refill his lungs with stale air.
‘Even now,’ Rhimes said, disgusted, ‘you’re still insisting that—’
‘No. You know that it wasn’t me. That I didn’t do it. This is all on you,’ Streeter said defiantly, leaning back on his heels and looking up at Rhimes. The colour slowly returned to his face, a face that was now fixed with a steely determination. ‘You left the real killer on the street. This is all on you.’
2
R
-v-
Andrew Streeter
Sentencing remarks of His Honour Judge Diarmuid Joseph QC
Central Criminal Court
16 October 1996
Sentencing Remarks: The offences of murder for which I must sentence you, Andrew Streeter, were committed over the course of six months from August 1995 to January 1996.
You took the lives of five innocent people. Melissa Gyimah aged 15, Stephanie Chalmers aged 17, Fallon O’Toole aged 23, Penelope Callaghan aged 17 and Tiago Alves aged 19. Four young women and a young man who had yet to fully make their mark on the world because their lives were cruelly taken from them in the most horrific of ways.
The facts of this case were disputed by you from the minute you were first arrested by police on 18 November 1995 and again on 6 January 1996. You continued to dispute the facts of this case over the duration of the trial, which included the three days that you spent giving evidence in the witness box. The jury quite rightly returned unanimous verdicts of guilty. Verdicts which I understand you still do not accept. You had the opportunity to put the families of these innocent victims out of their misery by admitting what you had done but instead you chose to put them through the horrific ordeal of a four-week trial.
I do not wish to subject the families of Melissa, Stephanie, Fallon, Penelope, and Tiago to hearing the full details of the murders of their daughters, son, sisters and brother. I will also remind you that you robbed Penelope Callaghan of the gift of raising her own child, Sofia, who lost her mother at the tender age of 18 months. I seek only to summarise the facts in a very broad outline.
Your modus operandi for each of the five victims was the same. You had a method that you did not deviate from. Each victim was taken off the street and into a white Renault Trafic van which had been stolen by you two months before the first victim Melissa Gyimah was reported missing. You created, for want of a better phrase, a ‘Kill List’ with the names of the victims who you had chosen, leaving no doubt in my mind that your decision to take the victims was premeditated. You chose each victim carefully and monitored their movements for several weeks before you kidnapped them. You abducted each victim and took them to your garden flat in Bellingham, south-east London. With the exception of Tiago Alves, you sexually assaulted your victims and then removed them from the property and took them to another location. At the second location, you removed the clothing of your victims, tied their hands and feet and buried them alive. Your victims suffocated and died. You then removed your victims from their graves, cleaned their bodies, dressed them, placed a coin in their mouths, sewed their eyes and mouths shut, and dumped their bodies.
There can be no doubt in my mind that you, Andrew Streeter, were responsible for the unimaginable mental and physical suffering that these five young people were subjected to before they died. You have irretrievably damaged the lives of the family and friends who loved them. The sentence that I will impose will do little to take away the pain of loss, but it will hopefully give them the small satisfaction that justice has been served.
Will the defendant please stand.
Andrew Streeter. You kidnapped, and murdered five innocent people, raping four of them. In addition, you destroyed the lives of their family and friends and held the residents of south-east London hostage as you carried out your reign of terror. Your own family have expressed their deep shame and remorse for the pain and destruction that you have caused but you chose to express no remorse or accept any responsibility for your evil actions. Your counsel, Ms Johnson, sensibly chose not to make any submissions in regard to mitigating circumstances. The only mitigating submission that I would have chosen to have accept would have been a plea of guilty. Despite the evidence against you, you chose to maintain your innocence. Your counsel did submit that you were a man of previously good character and I do not take any issue with counsel for submitting that fact. However, the fact that you had not committed any previous offences will have no effect on the sentence that I will impose.
As Ms Johnson has correctly submitted, the sentence which I must impose upon you is prescribed by law. However, in my opinion each of the victims need to be recognised and I will not pass a sentence that does not recognise the lives that were cruelly taken by you.
Count 1. For the murder of Melissa Gyimah, I pass a sentence of life imprisonment. For the murder of Stephanie Chalmers, I pass a sentence of life imprisonment. For the murder of Fallon O’Toole, I pass a sentence of life imprisonment. For the murder of Penelope Callaghan, I pass a sentence of life imprisonment. For the murder of Tiago Alves, I pass a sentence of life imprisonment.
It is my duty as a trial judge to submit a report to the Home Secretary, which includes a recommendation as to the appropriate length of the penal element in each of the life sentences; in other words, how long I think you should spend in prison. As a matter of course, this is not usually disclosed in a public forum; however, I am not of the opinion that you deserve the luxury of privacy at any stage of your sentencing. My recommendation is that you will spend the remainder of your days in prison. Life will mean life. Take him down.
3
Present Day – 2 May
‘Are you sure I look OK?’ Michelle asked, peering into a compact mirror and patting her forehead with the powder puff. ‘I want to make sure I look OK.’
‘You look absolutely fine,’ Salim Ramouter said. He turned his head and saw his five-year-old son, Ethan, marching ahead along the pavement, with a clear idea of his destination.
‘Fine. I only look fine?’
‘I didn’t mean … you’re beautiful.’
‘But you didn’t say beautiful,’ said Michelle, brushing away a stray eyelash. ‘There’s a big difference between fine and beautiful.’
‘What I meant was …’ Ramouter paused and ran his hand across his beard. ‘I meant that you don’t have to worry about impressing Henley.’
‘I know I don’t have to impress Henley. She’s not like that,’ Michelle replied, placing her mirror back into her bag. ‘I’m worried that I look ill … I don’t want anyone looking at me and the first thing that pops into their head is, Oh, poor Michelle. She’s got early-onset dementia. How many times am I going to have to tell her where the toilet is?’
‘Michelle,’ Ramouter said firmly as they stopped outside Henley’s front gate. He took hold of his wife’s hand and kissed it. ‘No one is going to be thinking any of those things.’
‘I don’t want people feeling sorry for me,’ Michelle said quietly. Ethan ran up Henley’s driveway and started banging the letter box.
‘There is nothing wrong with empathy. At least you know they care. Also, you know where the toilet is.’
‘You’re right,’ Michelle said, laughing as the front door opened and Henley’s husband, Rob, appeared. ‘I do know where the toilet is.’
‘I’m starting to think I should give Ethan his own key,’ said Henley. She started spooning rice and peas out of the rice cooker and into a white bowl.
Ramouter settled down on the chair in front of the kitchen island and prised the cap off his beer with a bottle opener. ‘I think you might have to. He loves coming here,’ he replied. ‘Aren’t you breaking some old Grenadian rule by cooking rice’n’peas in a rice cooker? My mum would kick me out of the house if I even suggested that she bought one.’
‘Oh absolutely,’ Henley said with a grin. ‘I’m breaking so many rules. But you know what? It’s either this or arguing with Rob about who has to clean the pressure cooker with the burnt bits of rice on the bottom. I did enough of that when I was living at home with my parents and brother, and between me and you, I keep burning the rice.’
‘That brings back memories. Trying to get away with leaving the pot to soak in the hope that you would never have to wash it.’
‘Exactly.’ Henley pushed the bowl to one side, opened the oven and pulled out a dish of macaroni cheese and placed it on top of the hob. ‘So … how are things at home? How long have Michelle and Ethan been with you now? Four weeks?’
Ramouter looked past Henley and through the open French doors where Michelle was sitting at the garden table drinking wine with Rob and Glen, the husband of DC Paul Stanford, who was an original member of the Serial Crime Unit and one of Henley’s closest friends. Stanford was at the other end of the garden, playing football and debating the legitimacy of a goal with Ethan and Emma, Henley’s three-year-old daughter.
