DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “Right.” Clayton nodded. “And that’s where we’re at. We’re working through the vehicle regs of the traffic which passed the camera near LIDL’s store. It’s time-consuming but we will get there.” He directed the last at the DCI, accompanied by an unusually stern look.

  The DCI cleared his throat. “Alright. Yvonne, keep me informed.”

  “I will, sir.” Yvonne winked at Clayton.

  After the DCI had continued down the corridor, the DI continued, “I’ve got to telephone the parents again, later today. I’ll let them know how far we’ve got. Keep plugging away, Dai. I know it’s back-breaking work, but that little boy deserves justice if anyone does.”

  Dai Clayton took in her soulful eyes. “It feels personal, doesn’t it?”

  “Incredibly so. He was at the start of his life, Dai. He had so much to look forward to. Some bastard took that away from him and did not have the guts to own up or to confront what they’d done. To say sorry to his family and friends. Too damn right, it’s personal. Look, do you need more resources? I can put PC Halliwell at your disposal and-“

  “I’ll bear that in mind, thank you. I’m actually just off to see the tech bods to get their help on speeding the whole process up. They’ve got a few tricks and programs up their sleeve.” He tapped Yvonne on the elbow. “We’ll solve this. We’ll bring this toe-rag to justice.”

  Yvonne smiled. “Thank you, Dai.”

  He sighed for the umpteenth time. Why was that idiot Kenny always late. The whole world didn’t run on Kenny-time. He kicked at a wheel on his car, just as a dust-cloud started up on the horizon. That’d be him, driving like the clown he was. He hawked at phlegm in the back of his throat, spitting it out on the grass, his face clouded in disgust. This was the part of his fantasy he could do without, but he couldn’t enjoy the chase without it. He took a good look around the moor, the barren wilderness of it. It had a wild, bare beauty. He liked the sheep-gnawed rawness of it. A moon landscape. In the distance, modern-day windmills - some busy, some as still as pictures - broke up the horizon. No dwellings for as far as the eye could see.

  “You alright, dude? How’s it going?” Kenny drew up in his battered truck, window down and music up.

  He wanted to push back the lank, unkempt hair from Kenny’s face. The fact it hung everywhere irritated him beyond measure. “You’re late. Where the hell have you been?”

  “Hey, take a chill pill. I got here as soon as I could.” Kenny leaned right back in his seat. “I’m a busy man. You gotta wait your turn-“

  His arm shot through the open window. He turned off the thudding music before grabbing Kenny by the shirt collar. “Listen here, you greasy piece of shit. If you tell me you’re going to be in a certain place at a certain time, you better-the-hell be there. I’m not one of your kids. You do not mess with me. Not if you value your life.” He pulled Kenny’s shocked face right up to his, and, baring his teeth, growled, “Am I making myself clear?” He let go, and Kenny dropped back.

  “Crystal.” Kenny readjusted his clothes. “I got held up at the roadworks, okay?”

  “You got what I want?”

  “Yeah. ‘Course.” Kenny reached into his glove compartment. “It’ll cost ya a bit more this time.”

  “What do you mean, it’ll cost more? Why?”

  “Prices have gone up a bit at the mo. I…I’m not kidding, honest. There was a big bust, up in Manchester. Fuzz all over everything. It’s left a hole in supply. We can still get it, it’s just a little harder right now.”

  “There’s always a problem, isn’t there, Kenny?”

  “Well, do you want it or not?” Kenny was attempting nonchalance but his voice trembled.

  He pulled out an envelope, and counted through its contents. “How much more?”

  “Fifty?” Kenny didn’t sound too sure.

  “I’ll give you an extra twenty,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “Think yourself lucky.”

  “But-“

  “Fuck off outta here, Kenny.” He threw the twenty-pound note through the open window.

  Kenny glared at him, but shut his window and backed up, spinning into a fast u-turn. He disappeared the way he had come, dust clouds kicking up the horizon.

  10

  Torture

  So your name’s William?” His hooded tormentor grunted, scraping a wooden chair along the floorboards as he positioned it just in front of him. “I think I’ll call you Billy. I like that better.”

  Gagged, William could only mutter in return, pulling against his restraints in a vain attempt to free himself. He looked down the length of his body. He was laid out on some sort of trolley, covered in a cream blanket full of intended holes, like a hospital blanket. Over the top of that were wide-band leather straps. He couldn’t exactly see how many, but there had to be at least five. All buckled in the middle.

  “What do you think?” His captor smiled, and it was pure evil. “This way there’ll be no marks.”

  He tried desperately to say something. His captor eased out of the chair, taking his time to walk over and remove the gag.

  “What do you want from me? Let me go. Please. Let me go. What have I done to deserve this? Why am I here?”

  His captor returned to his seat. “Nothing. You’ve done nothing. I’m not doing it because I think you deserve it. I’m doing this because I get pleasure from it. So do they.” He flicked his head in the direction of the open laptop.

  “Who’s they?” William craned his head in an attempt to better see the laptop.

  “My friends from the dark web. We all have the same need to watch people drown.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “That depends on your perspective. Anyway, don’t say that. You might upset them.” He whispered the last, again nodding towards the laptop.

  “Are people watching this?” William shook his head, incredulous. “Let me the fuck out of this crap.”

  “Don’t get nasty. It’ll just get worse for you if you get nasty.”

  William closed his eyes. Any moment now he was going to wake up. This was a nightmare. He’d had several pints too many and anytime now he was going to wake up with a hangover and laugh at all of this.

  “You’re wondering how you got here, aren’t you?” His captor leaned back in the chair, legs out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

  ”How did I get here?”

  “I drugged you. It was easy. You leave your drinks all over the place. They all do.”

  “All? You mean there’s more? You’ve done this to others?”

  “A few.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happens now?” There was a dawning on William’s face. A sudden realisation that this was not the goal. He wasn’t simply to be held bound and gagged in this room. His face ashen, he pulled again against his restraints, his eyes darting around the room. Terrified of what he might see and yet needing to know.

  The chair scraped some more, as the tormentor got up once more. From somewhere near the bottom of the trolley, the tormentor pulled out two large watering cans. They were full, evidenced by the difficulty he had carrying them.

  Confusion clouded William’s face. “What the-?”

  His captor pulled out a hood, made from sack-material, from a cupboard drawer and paused to type something into the laptop. He appeared to wait for a reply and chuckled to himself. He then made his way to the side of the trolley.

  “No…No, don’t put that on me. Please don’t put that thing on me!” The latter request turned into a shriek, as his captor forced the hood over his head, whilst William shook his head. The only way he could resist.

  But the hood was on and William fell silent, breathing ragged. There were no holes for his eyes. He could see nothing, save the material of the hood.

  His captor was pumping something with his foot. Part of the trolley, where his head and shoulders rested, lowered. His torso and legs were now higher than his head.

  “Stop! Stop!�
�� He began to splutter and choke, scrabbling for breath, as water was poured over his mouth and nose, through the hood. His words became a warbled noise, as he shook his head vigorously in a vain attempt to avoid the water going into his nose and mouth. He couldn’t breath. He was sure he was going to drown. He screamed and warbled and blew out at the water.

  Just when it felt like he might pass out, his tormentor stopped and placed the watering can back on the floor.

  William gasped for breath, relieved he was still conscious.

  “Had enough, Billy?”

  “Yes.” Billy sobbed.

  He heard fingers on keys. The bastard was back on the laptop.

  He lay as still as he was able, straining to hear what was happening. Unable to see where his tormentor was.

  Again, a warbled cry, as yet more water began to pour on his face, robbing him of his breath and convincing him he was going to die. His chest and stomach were painful and he was sure he could feel water in his lungs. He didn’t know how much more he could take.

  Again, his captor stopped and pulled back the hood. “Had enough, Billy?”

  “Fuck you!” William blurted out, between gulps of air, his spirit strengthened by anger. “What have I done to you?”

  “I told you. You’ve done nothing. This isn’t about you. It’s about us.”

  William sobbed again. He was going to die. He knew it now. Was as certain of it as he had ever been of anything. This evil man wasn’t going to stop. He’d done this before. He’d killed before and he was killing again. As the torture restarted, William lost consciousness.

  Getting the body to the river was no problem. After dressing the dead man in his clothes, and satisfying himself there was little in the way of obvious marks, the killer pulled a sack over the body and tied it to a sack-truck, to get it down the stairs. Secluded as he was, he had no fear of being seen as he got the body into his boot. It was all just a little too easy.

  The body would stay there until nightfall. Then came the risky part - getting it to the river unnoticed. He’d planned for it, but there was still no telling who might be about. The spot he had chosen was just outside of town. Near enough that it would be seen as accidental drowning, but far enough to minimise any risk of being caught. All he had to do was wait.

  11

  A friend in need

  Tasha had kicked her shoes off under the table at their favourite cafe, Bank Cottage, enjoying an Americano, when Yvonne arrived out of breath.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Yvonne placed her bag on the seat next to her and pulled a face, her head tilted to one side.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Tasha grinned. “I’ll go order you a Latte. Didn’t get one straight away, as I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.”

  Yvonne placed her jacket on the back of her chair. “Oh, thank you. That’s so thoughtful. You’re right, we are ridiculously busy right now.”

  The DI sank into a chair and calmed. There was something about the old-world atmosphere in the little cafe that melted everything else away. Even, time itself.

  “It’ll be with us in a moment.” Tasha was back, with that big, white, toothy smile.

  “How’s the house coming along? Sorry I haven’t been up in a while.” Yvonne extracted her phone from her bag and set it on the table beside her.

  “Busy, then?” Tasha nodded towards the phone.

  “I’m sorry.” Yvonne sighed. “Yes. Yes, we’re treading water at the moment.”

  “I tell you what. I’ll tell you about the house after you tell me what you’re working on.”

  Yvonne chuckled. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  The DI began by relating the hit-and-run to her friend, and talking of the team’s frustration at the slow progress. Tasha listened, allowing her friend to release the tension and get it all out. Commiserating with her that the victim was so young, and his loss so needless.

  “There’s something else…” Tasha’s eyes searched her face.

  Yvonne looked down into her coffee.

  “There is, actually. At least, I believe there is.”

  Tasha chuckled. “Uh-oh, here we go.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead, in mock despair, before winking at the DI.

  “I think I may be chasing another serial killer. Except, if I am, I’m not clear about motive.”

  “Go on…” Tasha leaned in close, her unblinking eyes narrowed.

  “We’ve had three young men turn up in the river, in about the same number of months. All had been on nights out with their friends, prior to disappearing. All were supposedly on their way home at the time we think they disappeared. They ended up dead in the river.”

  “That’s a short period of time for three bodies to turn up in the same stretch of river.”

  “Yes, it is. Not only that, but at least one of them was nowhere near the river when he was last captured on CCTV. He was only a few streets away from his home. He also appeared to become intoxicated in an extremely short period of time. All of them were young - twenty years old, give-or-take.”

  “I see.”

  “Thing is, as far as we can tell, there had been no sexual interference with the men, and there appeared to be no signs of violence, other than the kinds of damage expected in a case of drowning.”

  “So, your superiors think that the men fell in, whilst intoxicated, and drowned, and you have a feeling in your gut that tells you otherwise.”

  “That’s pretty-much it, yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “In one of the cases, I suspect that the victim’s phone was placed on the river bank to mislead us as to where the victim supposedly fell into the water.”

  “And you don’t think he entered there.”

  “No. There were large rocks where he would have fallen and his injuries were not consistent with hitting those rocks from a height.”

  “I see.”

  “Although the most recent victim appeared to have lost his jacket, phone and wallet, the other victims still had either their phone or their wallet, and that makes robbery an unlikely motive.”

  “If it’s the same killer.”

  “Right. If it’s the same killer. But, we’d be damned unlucky if we had three different killers preying on young men on nights out.”

  “Absolutely. Okay, just supposing you have a killer. Just one killer for all three men. You know how his victims are being chosen, as they are all on nights out. They’re intoxicated, therefore easier to control.”

  “What about motive? Any ideas?”

  “Have you heard of people who get sexual gratification from the act of drowning someone? They can take a person almost to the point of death and then revive them. Rinse and repeat. Total control over the life and death of that person is what gives them pleasure. They can play god. Ultimately, they will kill their victim, as otherwise they risk discovery. Although, killing the person can, in any event, be the ultimate aim.”

  “But surely, death comes more swiftly to someone who’s intoxicated.”

  “Perhaps, but there’s no saying that once the killer has the person under control, he can revive them, even sober them up. If they’re bound, he can still drown them.”

  Yvonne shook her head. “There’s no evidence that any of the victims were bound.”

  “Sure, but a bright killer can find ways of binding, without necessarily leaving marks. Anyway, it’s possible to bring someone under control with drugs. The mind knows what’s happening but the body can do little about it.”

  Yvonne sat forward in her chair. “You know, I was wondering about that. The most recent victim appeared to go from fine to legless by drinking one extra pint, prior to his disappearance. I’ve been wondering if he could have been drugged with something like GHB. We checked CCTV but couldn’t see the lad’s pint for more than about a minute of the footage. He was playing pool for around fifteen minutes and his pint was up on the corner of the bar, but people were continually in the line of sight to it.”

  “Fifteen minutes
is plenty of time for something to be slipped into his drink.”

  “Right. But that’s all I’ve got. There’s nothing all that concrete to go on and I could be barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Want me to come up with a profile?”

  “Could you?”

  “If you let me see relevant information from the case files, sure.”

  “I’ll speak to the DCI. See if he’ll let you do it officially. At least then you’ll get paid. Otherwise-“

  “It’s okay. By all means, see if they’ll pay me for it, but I’ll do it for you, anyway. I’m in between cases for the Met. I can afford the time. Anyway, you’ve peaked my interest, DI Giles.” Tasha grinned.

  “Wow, this coffee’s so good.” Yvonne smiled. “Now, tell me how your house-by-the-sea is coming along.”

  Yvonne held her breath and wrung her hands, as she waited with Dewi on the riverbank.

  Dewi shook his head. “I’ve never known anything like this. This has just never happened before. So many bodies in so short a time.”

  “These are no accidents, Dewi. We have a killer, right here on our patch. A killer who is picking off our young men. I know it.” She strained to watch the divers, as they recovered the body from the pool. An underwater photographer had taken pictures for the coroner. They’d pulled out so many bodies now, the police authority had coughed up for the expensive piece of kit. The red dinghies were an all-too-familiar sight. The DI felt like crying.

  “We’ve got a crazy in town.” Dewi stared out across the water, eyes narrowed, like he was trying to figure it all out.

  Carwyn Davies climbed out of the water, as the body and the dinghy were brought in for the waiting ambulance.”This one’s not right,” he shouted to them.

  Yvonne ran to meet him. “What do you mean, not right?”