The Wilderness Murders
Anna-marie Morgan
Also by Anna-marie Morgan
In the DI Giles Series:
Book 1 - Death Master
Book 2 - You Will Die
Book 3 - Total Wipeout
Book 4 - Deep Cut
Book 5 - The Pusher
Book 6 - Gone
Book 7 - Bone Dancer
Book 8 - Blood Lost
Book 9 - Angel of Death
Book 10 - Death in the Air
Book 11 - Death in the Mist
Book 12 - Death under Hypnosis
Book 13 - Fatal Turn
Book 14 - The Edinburgh Murders
Book 15 - A Picture of Murder
Book 16 - The Wilderness Murders
Copyright © 2021 by Anna-marie Morgan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For Jean, with love
Contents
1. Abduction
2. The abandoned rucksack
3. The book in the tree
4. The mystery photographs
5. Three friends
6. The cairn by the river
7. Missing man
8. Death on the Heights
9. Dark days
10. Mortuary
11. The killer’s whim
12. An unexpected revelation
13. The wood for the trees
14. The hunter
15. Grim discovery
16. Prey
17. Close call
18. Suspicions
19. Discovery in the woods
20. Doubling down
21. Sorting the wheat from the chaff
22. Lost and found
23. Disappeared
24. Captive
25. Eyes open
26. Forest of fear
27. No way back
28. Life or death
29. End game
Afterword
1
Abduction
Like one that on a lonely road
Doth walk in fear and dread
And having once turned round, walks on
And turns no more his head
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
(From Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, S.T. Coleridge.)
The rain had ceased, for now.
Miles and Seren Payne left their tent flap open for air to circulate inside after the night’s torrential downpour.
Water had soaked a corner of Seren’s mystery novel. She shook it by the spine, pulling a face. “I hope it stays dry for the rest of the day, or we could have trouble sleeping tonight.”
Miles nodded, running a hand through his wife’s blonde hair, removing tendrils from her face. “I don’t fancy a night in the car, either, but I don’t think the foul weather will last. The app says it should be clear from mid-day. It’s going to be hot, hot, hot.”
Seren handed him their backpack, watching as he flexed it onto his broad shoulders.
Although two inches shorter than her height of five-feet-eight, Miles had always seemed taller. Such was his protective nature. He would never let her down, of that she was sure.
Boots on, she exited the tent to join her husband, emerging into the earthy air and filling her lungs.
Miles, having deposited their rucksack against their vehicle, fought with a damp lighter as he tried firing up the two-ring camping stove.
She kissed his cheek; the book tucked under her arm, ready for a quiet moment. Red-rimmed eyes betrayed the night’s broken sleep. Seren had held her breath at every sound emanating from outside the tent.
As the kettle whistled, she gave a wry smile. The night’s anxieties had dissipated with rays warming her back, and Miles’ brew would lift her spirits.
She slipped an arm through his, placing her novel on the folding table they had brought with them. This holiday in the hills had been a long time coming.
When the stranger rocked up with his four-by-four, they thought little of it, other than wondering why he chose that spot, when there was ample space available.
But when he aimed a shotgun at them, and ordered them into the wood, their world fell off a cliff.
“Now look here…” Miles frowned, his hands shaking. “I don’t know what you want, but-”
“Move it,” the stranger commanded.
“We don’t have any money on us, if that’s what you’re after?”
“Into the trees,” their captor barked, flicking the gun in the direction he wished them to go.
Tears snaked down Seren’s face. Sensing what was to come, her wide eyes searched for help. Anyone, anything, anywhere.
As they reached the tree line, the stranger took two pieces of black nylon rope from a canvas bag and threw one to Seren. “Tie his hands behind his back. Make sure it’s tight. I’ll check,” he warned.
She picked up the would-be restraint, pleading with the man holding the gun.
“Do it!”
“Please…”
“If you don’t get on with it, I’ll kill you both.”
She lost a flip-flop, stumbling to her husband. Her trembling hands fumbled with the rope, which fell to the floor.
“It’ll be all right,” Miles reassured.
She paused.
“It’s okay,” he affirmed. “Do as he says.”
Seren considered making the knots loose enough for her husband to escape, weighing the chances of their attacker actually checking the bonds. If he moved in to inspect them, wouldn’t he leave himself vulnerable to her?
As though reading her thoughts, their captor pressed the muzzle hard into the back of her neck. “Make it tight.”
She did as she was told; her shaking limbs making the job twice as difficult. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Miles.
“It’s okay, stay strong.” He turned his head to smile at her. It didn’t reach his eyes. A muscle flicked in his temple.
“Now, tie his ankles, and make sure the knot is firm.”
Seren let out a sob, dropping to her knees. “Please… don’t do this. What do you want? We’ll get it for you.”
He poked her in the side with his foot. “Do it.”
“We’ve got money, we can-“
This time, he slammed his boot into her.
“Hey!” Miles fought his bonds.
The stranger levelled his gun at Seren’s head, all the while looking at her husband. “Don’t.”
Miles ceased struggling, and his wife tied his ankles, rubbing her injured side after she had finished.
“Good.” Their attacker turned his attention to the woman. “Lie on your front with your hands behind your back, and cross your ankles.”
She didn’t argue this time. In her mind, she was already preparing herself for what she believed was to come, hoping it wouldn’t hurt too much, or go on too long.
After the stranger bound her wrists and ankles, he kicked Miles' legs from under him, rolling the man over onto his front.
His victim refrained from calling out. There was no-one to hear, and he didn’t wish to further antagonise their attacker. His mind raced, searching for a way out.
2
The abandoned rucksack
A solitary rucksack stood on the dirt track, fully upright, like the owner had only
that minute placed it there, perhaps to relieve themself behind a tree. They would return for it in a minute or two.
Except they didn’t.
Seventeen-year-old Alfie Lloyd estimated it had been two-to-three hours since they had seen it on the way to the ridge. The khaki kitbag sat exactly as it had when they passed it on the way up. He snapped a photograph, capturing as much of the surrounding landscape as he could. He didn’t know why, but felt in his gut that something was wrong. The picture and the bag’s location could be evidence of something.
His two friends, Ieuan and Eifion, cupped their hands to their mouths, shouting hello to anyone who might hear.
No-one did.
The place was silent save for the birds, gurgling stream, and them.
“We should look inside, see who it belongs to.” Ieuan scratched his head, casting his eyes over the surrounding hills.
Eifion pulled a face. “I think we should call the police, something’s not right.”
“We could hand it in to police when we get back to town.” Ieuan shrugged. “Let them know where it was, and how long it’s been there.”
“We don’t know how long it’s been there.” Eifion shook his head. “It could have been there all night, for all we know.”
“All the more reason to hand it in to the police.” Alfie shuddered. “It’s giving me the creeps. We should open it up, look for a name or something.” He reached for the bag.
“No.” Eifion shook his head. “We’ll contaminate it with our fingerprints.”
“What?” Alfie paused, frowning.
“Well, if you are right, and something has happened to the owner, we don’t want our prints all over their stuff, do we?”
“Why don’t we call the police, then?” Ieuan placed his hands on his hips. “We call them, let them know this bag is on the path, and see what they have to say. They can tell us what to do.”
Eifion nodded. “Good idea, I’ll call them on my mobile as soon as I get a decent signal.”
“Morning, ma’am.” Dewi mumbled, throwing his jacket over the back of the chair, one side of his face stiff.
“Good morning, Dewi.” She eyed the taut cheek. “Dentist?” She grinned. “Is this where I am supposed to sympathise and make the brew?” She placed the lid on her pen.
He laughed, putting a hand to his face. “I can’t talk, I’m dribbling.”
“Fair enough, I can’t have a wounded man slaving over my coffee.” The DI rose from her seat. “You just take it easy there, Sergeant.” She laughed, patting his shoulder.
She barely had time to switch on the kettle when the call came in informing them of two bodies found on the Kerry Ridgeway.
A young couple had been hog-tied, gagged, and shot at close range with a twelve-bore.
When she and Dewi arrived at the scene, paramedics were clearing up, preparing to leave. Forensic officers had taken over, pegging out areas, and placing down markers.
They were only fifteen minutes' drive from Newtown, but could have been further, such was the isolation. The DI could only imagine the horror of being confronted by a killer in an environment where no-one would hear you scream.
The male victim lay on his front, ankles bound to his wrists. The killer had shot him in the back and head.
His partner lay on her side, stripped to her underwear, and also shot in the back. She had survived long enough to roll onto her side, perhaps attempting to rise to her knees.
Blood had pooled around both bodies, and the spatter suggested the murderer had dispatched them where they lay. He had left them at the edge of a small clearing, around three hundred yards from a spot used by wild campers.
The female’s outer clothing lay strewn about.
“Dewi?” Yvonne shielded her eyes from the midday sun, burning hot above the trees and the undulating hills beyond.
“Ma’am?”
“The victims were in all-weather gear and walking boots. They may have been campers.”
“Could be…” He frowned. “There are no personal items with them, that I can see.”
She nodded. “Perhaps, the search officers will find something. There may be a tent or camper.”
“One paramedic said there was a tent further down that way.” He pointed through the trees. “We could head over and look.”
“Good idea.” She cast her eyes over the fallen one last time. “Poor buggers. We should warn the public to stay away. The killer may still be out there. We need the names and details of everyone holding a gun licence in the vicinity. If there are other campers around, we’ll speak to them. They may have seen or heard something. If any of them have a shotgun, we’ll take them in for questioning.”
“Right, you are.” Dewi swivelled towards her, his head inclined as he studied her face. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
She pursed her lips, scanning the horizon. “This may have been a robbery gone wrong, but my gut is telling me there’s more to it. This couple were not just tied up. He trussed them in a way that brings torture to mind. I’m hoping this isn’t a sadist…”
Dewi nodded. “So am I.”
3
The book in the tree
It didn’t take long to find the campsite, which lay less than fifteen minutes' walk from the murder scene.
A solitary four-man tent lay undisturbed in a clearing, two sleeping bags inside.
The ashes of a campfire lay among a ring of stones, and a whistle kettle had boiled dry and blackened above a two-ring camp stove whose gas supply had long-since run out.
A lump formed in the DI’s throat. Someone had left in a hurry during breakfast and, whoever it was, they had not returned.
“This has to be their camp.” Dewi sighed, placing his hands on his hips, eyeing the surrounding trees. “Looks like the killer took them from here.”
She nodded. “Marched at gun point, no doubt. He most likely drew up in a vehicle. Those look like fresh tyre tracks.” She pointed to an area next to what they presumed was the victims’ tent. “Call this in, get SOCO out here.”
“On it.”
As she turned to leave, something caught her eye. It glinted part way up the trunk of a silver birch.
On approach, she could see a book stuffed into a narrow oval-shaped cleft in the trunk. It was upright, with its front cover facing forward, and distorted in shape because of being forced into the cleft.
A thriller, titled Spilled Blood. She didn’t recognise the author's name. Had one of the victims been reading it?
She photographed the book in situ with her mobile phone, suspecting the killer had stuffed it there. He had to have done. No self-respecting reader would ever be so careless with their books. She didn’t touch it, but made a note to follow it up with SOCO.
The campers couldn’t have chosen a better spot. Peaceful, filled with birdsong, with a parting in the trees which gave a vignette of the undulating landscape beyond. The opening of the tent faced towards that glimpse of beauty that was this part of the Welsh Marches. It was, perhaps, the last thing the couple saw before being confronted by their killer.
DC Callum Jones waited for them back at the station. “I tried your mobile, but it went straight to voicemail.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Three lads handed us something which could relate to the double murder.”
Yvonne crossed the office to him. “Do we have the identities of the couple?”
Callum nodded. “We do. We ran the reg that Dewi gave us for the Free Lander you found. It gave the owners as Miles and Seren Payne. We’ve spoken to the brother of Miles, one Jonathan Payne, and he says he hasn’t heard from the couple since the night before last. This is unusual, as they are very close. He lives at the couple’s address in Hereford, and said they had planned to camp at the Kerry Ridgeway. They were seasoned campers and confident hikers in their early thirties. He’s tried phoning and messaging them several times today with no answer. Even with the fragility of phone signals up there, he tells me this is unusual. He thinks they would have been in c
ontact with him by now, as they’re having a new conservatory built on the house, and Miles was due to check in about that, if nothing else.”
The DI pursed her lips, lids half-closed. “I agree, it sounds like our victims are the Paynes. Let me know when we have a confirmed ID, will you?”
Callum nodded, rolling up his sleeves. “Jonathan Payne is on his way down to identify them. I’ll keep you informed.”
She turned to leave.
“There’s one more thing…” Callum checked his notes. “Uniform have been in touch. They found a rucksack abandoned on the track at the Ridgeway. They don’t know who it belongs to. It’s down in the custody suite at the moment.”
Yvonne frowned. “What’s it doing there?”
Callum shrugged. “Apparently, there were no ID or bank cards, and they called us in case it’s connected to our murders. I said you’d be along to check it out.”
“Did you?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I assumed you’d want to?”
“Of course.” She grinned. “But, I suspect you volunteering me has something to do with the number of steps involved. Are you still smoking, Callum?”
He laughed. “I've tried to give up many times. Anyway, we’ve been busy following up on the Free Lander,” he said, batting his eyelids.
“Yeah, right,” She said, raising an eyebrow.
The Wilderness Murders: DI Giles Book 16 (DI Giles Suspense Thriller Series) Page 1
