by GS Rhodes
Kidd shook his head and put his phone on the bedside table. He went and brushed his teeth, trying to wind down, trying to push thoughts of the case out of his mind, but it didn’t work. Every time he blinked he could see Albert Hansen’s face, clear as a bell.
The dark curls, the clean-shaven face, the eyes such a dark shade of brown he almost looked like a shark. He was charming. That was the thing that surprised people the most when it got to the interview, when he ended up in the docks, he was incredibly charming. He was silver-tongued. It was the scariest thing about him. It wasn’t just that he’d killed these people in such a brutal fashion, it was that he showed no remorse, it was that he was almost proud he’d gotten away with it for so long. When he was an early suspect so many people had said it couldn’t possibly be him—he was so kind, so mild-mannered, so normal.
Kidd shook his head and spit out the toothpaste.
Being in the Met had changed him. It showed him the best and the worst of humanity on a daily basis. It taught him that anybody could be a killer. Absolutely anybody.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Maybe even he could be, under the right circumstances. You never knew what was going on in someone’s head just by looking at them.
Kidd climbed into bed and turned off the light, allowing himself to drown in the dark, in the quiet of it all. But sleep eluded him. Even with his eyes closed, his breathing deep, his brain ran a hundred miles an hour as it went through the case in minute detail.
Weaver had said tomorrow was going to be a long day, but it looked like tonight was going to be a long night too.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kidd woke the following morning with light streaming through his bedroom window. He’d forgotten to shut the curtains, so the early morning sun had assaulted his eyelids instead of his alarm assaulting his ears, but waking naturally did little to improve his sour, sleep-deprived mood. He felt his age in his creaking bones as he sat up in bed.
The house was quiet, as it was most mornings, but for the sound of the traffic outside his window. It was fine most of the time, quietening down enough at night so he could sleep. Though, every now and again he would be awoken by a siren or by someone thinking that his road was the track at Silverstone.
He stayed in bed for a while longer than he normally would, knowing he had time to spare, knowing that once he got out of bed and committed to the day, he would be on the case.
The Grinning Murders, he thought. Even in the cold light of the morning it still felt impossible, like he’d imagined it. How could it be real?
Even as he got himself ready, thoughts of that case echoed in the deepest recesses of his mind. He could still see the images of those dead bodies, of the cuts inflicted onto their faces. He could even see the look on Hansen’s face when they’d finally caught him, one that was resigned to his fate. Maybe he’d known they were coming but simply couldn’t stop himself. It was hard to tell.
He got changed into the same smart trousers he’d been wearing the previous night, a clean white shirt, tie and jacket. He threw his coat on and checked himself one last time in the mirror before he left. Was this the face of a man who was ready to step back into this life?
Kidd didn’t want to dwell on the question for too long.
He decided to walk to work. He lived a little way away from Kingston Police Station and, even though it was probably far enough away to warrant driving, he felt he needed the walk to psyche himself up.
The morning was bright and cold, January in every sense of the word. The sun was doing its best to break through the haze and warm the world up, but was failing miserably, so Kidd pulled his jacket tightly around himself as he started to work.
He walked through town, past the shopping centre and the early morning hustle and bustle of people heading to their jobs, to college, to uni, and towards the riverside. Even though it had been covered in restaurants with a river view, the riverside was one of his favourite places in town, and at this time of the morning, it was basically dead. There was something about the water that calmed him. His parents had taken them to the seaside a lot when they were younger. He wondered if it was that. He associated the water with relaxation.
He stopped at the railing and looked out across the water, a team of rowers heading in one direction, the river cruise to Richmond heading in the other. He breathed in the cold morning air, like that would go some way to mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead.
Nope, he thought. No such luck.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, showing a message from Liz.
LIZ: My head feels like it’s been flattened by a steam roller. If you’ve gone running this morning I’m disowning you.
LOL, not even sorry. You brought it on yourself. Not out running, but I am already out. Lazy.
LIZ: Why?
LIZ: Seriously WHY?!
Work called. I’m heading back in.
Not wanting to hear Liz’s complaints about him heading back into work before the end of his leave, Kidd flicked his phone to silent and pocketed it, heading away from the water.
When he reached the station, even from a distance, he recognized Weaver waiting outside holding a travel mug of coffee. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his ginger hair cut and styled neatly. He was built like a rugby player, the seams of his suit screaming where he stood. Like he could sense Kidd’s eyes on him, Weaver turned as he approached, his face shifting to an awkward smile.
Kidd smiled back, though it was hard to ignore the fact that his boss had decided to meet him outside the office on his first day back. For some reason, that didn’t sit well with Kidd, though he couldn’t quite place why.
“Morning, boss,” Kidd said once he was in hearing distance.
Weaver took a sip of his drink, probably wishing it was gin, before answering. “Morning, Kidd. Sleep well?”
“Terribly.”
“How was leave?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Weaver gave him a tight-lipped smile before reaching out a hand for Kidd to shake. He took it. “We’ve missed you around here.”
Kidd didn’t know if the feeling was mutual. What he missed was feeling productive, feeling like he was actually doing something. It wasn’t the same thing.
“Likewise,” he lied, shaking Weaver’s hand. “Shall we?”
Weaver took a breath. “Best get started, eh?”
Weaver headed inside and held the door open for Kidd. It still smelled the same, like someone had poured bleach over the entire reception area to give it the impression of being clean, even though it certainly wasn’t.
“Well, as I live and breathe!” came a voice from behind the counter. Diane was the Station Reception Officer at Kingston Police Station and had worked there for longer than Kidd had. She was a staple, the kindest woman you could hope to meet. She knew everything, pretty much, and she was always there to look out for the people in the station. Her face burst into a smile when she saw him, like a family member you’ve not seen since Christmas. It was nice to feel wanted upon his return, that much was for sure. “I wasn’t expecting I’d ever see you again, Kidd,” she added.
“Try and keep me away,” Kidd deadpanned with a wink.
“How was leave?”
“Terrible,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I nearly came in here two or three times just to say hello.”
“You know you would have been more than welcome. I could have fixed you a cup of tea, or got you a sandwich, you’re getting thin,” Diane replied, her cheeks flushing a little. “You come out here and talk to me later,” she added. “I want to hear about everything you got up to over the past six months.”
Kidd smiled. He didn’t know quite how long it would take to tell her that he ran a lot, read a lot, and generally avoided human contact for six months. But Diane was a good egg.
Weaver used his key card to open the door by the desk, the familiar bleep and sound of the metal magnets letting the door go were so familiar to Kidd it took him
a moment to register they were happening in real life. He followed Weaver through the familiar hallways that he’d walked practically every day for the past twenty years. And now that he was coming back to them it felt like he’d been away for six years, not six months.
Noticeboards had changed. The doors looked like they were a different colour but probably weren’t. The walls looked like they’d had a fresh coat of ugly beige paint, though they definitely hadn’t.
Kidd breathed it in. It still smelled the same. He couldn’t describe what the smell was exactly, only that he knew it would follow him around for the rest of his life.
Weaver took him straight through to his office, not what Kidd had been expecting. At least, that explained why he’d been waiting outside for him rather than letting him come in of his own accord.
“I’m sorry to bring you back before your leave was over,” Weaver said as Kidd closed the door. “I wouldn’t normally, but things are… well… you know what they are, you’ve been here, you’ve done this before.”
“Something like that, yes,” Kidd said, looking around the office. Even Weaver’s office looked different than it had the last time he was here. It was cleaner. The usual chaotic desk looked like it had been tidied. He felt like he was losing his mind. “You change this office?”
Weaver eyed him carefully. “No. I don’t think so anyway.”
“It looks different,” Kidd said. “You didn’t tidy it on my account, did you?”
“Certainly not,” Weaver replied, looking around, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’ve always been tidy, you must be misremembering. It’s been six months.”
“I know,” Kidd replied, shaking the thought from his head and taking a seat across from Weaver. “So, what are we working with here?”
Weaver was still fixing him with a curious stare. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“You’re the one who brought me back.”
“I know, I know, I just don’t want you doing anything until you’re ready,” he said. “How are things in… in your personal life?”
Kidd sighed, already tired of this. “Shit, Weaver, things are shit, but doing this would go a heck of a long way to taking my mind off it.”
They stared at each other across the table, a standoff bathed in the mid-morning sunlight coming through the cheap blinds.
Weaver sighed and reached for the file on his desk.
Kidd 1, Weaver 0.
He opened it and took out a couple of photos, placing them in front of Kidd. Inadvertently, he took a deep breath before looking down to see exactly what it was he was dealing with.
Still, it took him by surprise.
Even with the knowledge of it all, the memories of the original case burned into his memory, the pictures were still enough to knock the breath right out of him.
The first photograph was from a distance. There was a woman lying on the ground, face-up, obscured by mud and pretty banged up, blood covering her t-shirt, though clearly it had been raining because it wasn’t the usual, deep-red colour. It had since faded to pink on the white fabric. Like she’d spilt red wine across her chest. The second photo was a little more close-up.
Carved into the woman’s cheeks were the two crosses, like a pair of eyes, haphazardly hacked into her face. Then, there was the wound along the throat, that long curve, that sickening smile that haunted his dreams.
The woman’s eyes were closed, thank heavens, but her hair was matted either with mud or blood. Kidd couldn’t tell which. He didn’t want to know.
“You see?” Weaver said. “It’s the same, isn’t it?”
“Somewhat,” Kidd said, looking a little closer. He picked up the photo and leant back in his chair, running his eyes across it one more time, picking up on every detail, not just on the woman’s body, but around it. He could see some blood stains beside her, marking the ground with spots of red like rain. “This was done at the location,” Kidd said.
“Yes,” Weaver replied.
“The others weren’t,” Kidd said flatly. “I don’t remember them being anyway,” he added, doubting his memory for a second. “If I remember it correctly, the bodies were normally, for want of a better word, dumped. This looks like it’s been done there. It’s a small thing, but it makes it different.”
“That’s why I asked you to come back in, Kidd,” Weaver said, shaking his head. “It’s something we would have come to eventually, I’m sure, only it would have taken a bit of looking for us to see that, but you noticed it straight away. You know this case like the back of your hand, and if we’re going to catch the bastard doing this, we need all the help we can get.”
Kidd sighed. “I just have one question,” Kidd said, knowing he was repeating himself. “Hansen is definitely still in prison, right?”
Weaver nodded. “Locked up tight. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Right,” Kidd said, turning his gaze back to the pictures. In some ways, it eased his mind to know that Hansen was in prison, that he wasn’t the one who was a threat to anybody. But that just meant that they were looking for somebody else, somebody new, somebody who wouldn’t have the same movements as Hansen. In a way, it made it harder. It could be anyone.
Kidd looked up at Weaver. “We’d best get started then, eh?”
CHAPTER SIX
Weaver took Kidd down a labyrinth of familiar corridors to the Incident Room. It was one he’d worked in before. Thankfully, though, not the same one they’d used the last time he’d faced The Grinning Murders. That would have been a little too much.
When Weaver opened the door and walked inside four sets of eyes looked up sharply from where they were, like rabbits in headlights. There were only a couple of faces in that room that Kidd didn’t know, that he hadn’t worked with before, and somehow that made him more nervous than he would have been had he walked into a room full of strangers.
“Morning team,” Weaver said, stepping inside and ushering Kidd in after him. He turned to Kidd. “Do I need to do introductions or would that be weird?”
“Probably be a little bit weird, sir,” Kidd said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But if you’d prefer—”
“Right then,” Weaver said, stepping further into the room, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. He was in his element now, apparently pleased that he had something to do. He approached a desk, a young lad sat behind it pouring through what looked like old files from the previous case.
At least he’s already doing his homework, Kidd thought.
“This is DC Simon Powell, don’t believe you’ve met him before,” Weaver said, gesturing to a young, heavyset boy in an ill-fitting blue suit. “Good lad, hard worker, sure he’ll be an asset to the investigation.”
“Thank you, sir,” Simon said, a slight flush of pink coming to his chubby cheeks. His shirt was buttoned right to his neck, the knot of his tie small and tight. A pair of brown eyes looked out from a ghostly pale face. He stood up to greet Kidd, knocking some papers over, and a few empty paper cups from his desk. “Sorry… uh…” He scrambled to pick them up.
Kidd turned to Weaver and widened his eyes. If this lad was meant to be an asset, he dreaded to think what the future of policing looked like.
DC Powell stood up and smiled at Kidd, his cheeks still flushed. “Pleasure to meet you…” he trailed off, waiting for Kidd to say his name. Weaver got in ahead of him, enjoying being able to play host.
“This is DI Benjamin Kidd,” Weaver said. “He’s going to be SIO on this investigation. He—”
“You did it last time,” Simon interrupted. Weaver cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir.” He turned back to Kidd. “Your name is all over these case files. You caught Albert Hansen.”
“The team caught Albert Hansen,” Kidd corrected, though he was certainly flattered. “But thanks. You keep looking over those case files, we need to get an evidence board started. You done one of those before?”
“No, sir.”
Kidd tried not to sigh. Giv
e me strength, he thought.
“Find someone who has, have them show you how to do it and get one going. I want to be able to see everything from the previous investigation and this one, make the connections, figure out what’s going on.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re going to frighten the kid off,” a voice said from behind Kidd. He turned to see DC Owen Campbell, blonde hair shaved close to his head. He’d been working on his tan since Kidd last saw him and was offering Kidd a smile that was just as fake. “Come on, Si, I’ll give you a hand.”
Simon got to his feet and hurried to Owen’s side like a lost puppy, eager to learn, eager to be liked, eager to do well. Kidd remembered being like that when he’d first joined the force. It was sweet.
“Didn’t think we’d be seeing your face back here anytime soon, sir,” Owen said with a wink. “Half expected you to vanish to an island somewhere and never return.”
“Can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“Shame.” Owen laughed. “Come on, Si.”
Owen took Simon to the front of the room, the stack of case files in Simon’s hands. Kidd watched him nearly drop them all, wincing as he crashed into the corner of a desk. He was going to have his hands full with that one, that much he could tell. Keen as anything but clumsy as heck. A killer combination. The two of them started talking in hushed tones. At least with Owen helping him, the board would have some order to it. Owen was good like that.
“This is DC Janya Ravel,” Weaver said, taking Kidd over to another desk where an Asian woman sat working on her computer, her gaze held firmly on that screen until Weaver had spoken. She looked up sharply and fixed Kidd with a stiff, nervous-looking smile.
“Lovely to meet you,” Kidd said, smiling back, wanting her to feel more at ease. Her black hair was pulled up into a rather conservative bun, her eyes big and wide as they stared up at him from where she sat.
