The DI Rosalind Kray Series: books 1-3

by Rob Ashman

  The coroner reached a verdict of accidental death and I gave a stunning performance as the grieving son. The court put me into foster care until a suitable guardian could be found, which was a joke. Whoever fucking decided my uncle Greg was suitable for anything wants shooting. For the next four years I fended largely for myself at the family home while he pissed the allowance money up against the wall.

  I never did get around to fitting that handrail to the stairs leading down to the cellar. Even now, when my left hand touches the cool plaster as I descend into the darkness, it is a glorious reminder of my freedom. And when the house is deathly quiet I can still hear her moaning in the cellar. It makes me smile.

  Chapter 42

  Kray marched into the interview room, which seemed even smaller with the lanky frames of Tavener and Aldridge shoe-horned in behind the desk. She was late, courtesy of the shrink.

  ‘Am I being arrested?’ Aldridge asked.

  ‘No, we have a couple of questions we want to ask you in relation to the theft of Suprane from the hospital,’ Kray replied taking a seat opposite him.

  ‘Not that again, don’t you people have better things to do?’

  ‘As it stands at the moment, Harry, this is precisely what we need to do. You can have a solicitor present if you wish but you are not under caution.’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘Firstly, when we arrived at your home we found you packing a bag into your car. It looked like you were about to take a little trip, Harry. Where were you going?’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘I checked with the hospital and you have not booked leave for today but you appeared to be going away somewhere in a hurry.’

  ‘I’m employed by the Home Office not the hospital. I have a stressful job and occasionally I like to take off to the countryside and leave it all behind me.’

  ‘Without letting your employer know you’re going? They must be very accommodating.’

  ‘We have cover arrangements in place; it’s not a problem.’

  ‘So, you weren’t intent on doing a disappearing act?’

  ‘No.’ Aldridge furrowed his brow and shook his head.

  Kray eyed him and spun the ring on her finger. She opened a folder and pulled out a series of documents lying them on the table in front of him.

  ‘These are the delivery documents for three shipments of Suprane made to the hospital in January, February and March of this year. You will note that in each case the delivery notes have been overwritten with a lesser quantity. These are the corresponding pieces of documentation from the supplier along with the matched invoice for each order. All the paperwork refers to the full amount of product apart from the delivery dockets which are amended. This paper trail, along with the physical stocktake, tells us that on the three months in question, Suprane was stolen from the stores.’

  ‘As I have already told you, Detective Inspector, I have nothing to do with the stores or with the administering of Suprane. This is ridiculous!’ Beads of sweat were visible on his balding head. ‘This is the second time—’

  ‘Yes, it is, Harry,’ Kray interrupted. ‘But this is the first time we have hard evidence that Suprane was stolen from the hospital and, as you are well aware, that drug played a major role in the murder of two women.’

  ‘So, you’ve uncovered the supply? That’s commendable but I have to stress it has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘On the face of it, that’s correct. You do not administer the drug and neither are you responsible for the store where it is kept.’

  ‘Then I’m pleased that’s cleared up.’ Aldridge got to his feet. ‘Now if you don’t mind I have better things to do.’

  ‘You are, however, responsible for making three payments to Kevin Chamberlain totalling six hundred pounds, which you paid him to steal the drug for you.’

  Aldridge stopped in his tracks. Half-moons of sweat stained the underarms of his shirt.

  ‘So you see, Harry, it very much does concern you and we would like to know more.’

  Aldridge sat back down and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Harry? Do you have anything to say?’

  Aldridge raked his fingers back and forth across his scalp.

  ‘That is an outrageous claim!’ He looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. ‘I have nothing to do with bloody Suprane and I don’t even know a man called Chamberlain.’

  ‘Well he knows you and he’s given us a statement that he has been stealing the drugs for you in return for three cash payments of two hundred pounds each.’

  ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘To divert the blame. You probably told him that the Suprane had been used in two murder cases and he panicked. He must have seen me around the hospital and blurted out my name. You should be talking to Chamberlain, not me.’

  ‘Oh, we will be talking more with Kevin but for now we needed to put the accusation to you. And you’re telling me that Kevin Chamberlain made up the entire story. He fabricated the whole scenario about you approaching him and offering money, how he upped the price because he could see you were desperate and he thought he could screw you for more cash. I mean come on Harry, your initial offer of fifty pounds a pop is hardly worth doing now is it? So, Kevin Chamberlain saw his opportunity and upped the ante to two hundred. He threatened to expose you if you didn’t stump up the money. A regular little organised crime boss is our Mr Chamberlain. He took you for a ride, am I right?’

  ‘This is complete nonsense!’

  ‘Chamberlain was very convincing in his statement. He even fessed up to what he spent the cash on. A set of tuned exhausts for his car – whatever they are. Now you had better start to talk to me or I am going to think the worse.’

  ‘He’s lying, can’t you see that? He’s shifting the blame.’

  ‘Yes, he’s doing that all right, but what I want to know is what did you do with the Suprane?’

  ‘I didn’t do it I tell you, I didn’t.’

  ‘What did you do with it? Did you sell it on? Was it stolen to order? Where is the drug now?’

  ‘This is fucking stupid. Can’t you see he’s lying? Can’t you see he’s setting me up?’

  ‘I’m going to ask you one more time. What did you do with the Suprane?’

  ‘Fucking hell, why don’t you listen.’

  ‘Harry Aldridge I am arresting you on the suspicion of—’

  ‘I’m being blackmailed, okay? I’m being fucking blackmailed.’

  Chapter 43

  ‘Talk to me, Harry,’ demanded Kray.

  ‘It happened about six months ago. I started receiving threats in the post.’

  ‘Threats about what?’

  Aldridge stared into the distance, watching helplessly as his career was about to plummet off the end of a cliff. Tears welled in his eyes. ‘I’m a heroin addict.’

  ‘What? You don’t look like an addict.’

  ‘That counts for nothing.’

  ‘Who is blackmailing you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Come on, Harry, are you seriously expecting me to believe that you are a junkie and some unknown person is putting the screws on you?’

  Aldridge stood up taking his jacket off the back of the chair.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  Twenty minutes later Aldridge was opening the door to his stylish flat in Stanley Park. He was followed inside by Kray and Tavener.

  ‘Let me get it, I won’t be a minute.’

  Kray put her hand on his arm. ‘You are implicated in a triple homicide you’re not going anywhere unaccompanied.’ She nodded to Tavener who followed him down the hallway to the bedroom at the end. He reached up and pulled a suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe and laid it on the bed. He unzipped the top and flipped it open, then ran his fingers around the bottom of the case and lifted out the lining to reveal a stack o
f papers. Aldridge picked them up and walked back into the lounge.

  ‘I received this in the mail in December last year.’ He handed Kray an envelope. She tipped out the contents into her hand. It contained a photograph showing Harry Aldridge and another man: Harry had a packet in one hand and money in the other.

  ‘Is this your dealer?’

  ‘Yes it’s one of them. A week later I received this.’ Aldridge handed Kray a second envelope which also contained another picture.

  ‘Same dealer?’ Kray asked.

  ‘Yes, same one.’

  ‘Then I got this.’ It was an envelope and a note. The envelope was addressed to the CEO of the hospital trust. The note read:

  I have an envelope just like this one. Find a way to obtain Suprane from the hospital stores or I will fill my envelope with photographs and mail it off. You have one week to comply. Put a vase of fresh flowers in your bedroom window when you have figured it out.

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I approached Chamberlain, he is well known around the hospital as a bit of a wide boy and is always short of cash. He showed me how the stock control system worked and it was a simple matter of skimming product off the deliveries and amending the paperwork.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I put flowers in my bedroom window. I was fucking terrified, whoever did this was watching my place.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I received instructions telling me the quantity to steal and a series of P.O. boxes to mail the drugs to. I paid Chamberlain the money, he lifted the Suprane and I posted it. That was it.’

  ‘Was there any more interaction between you and whoever this person is?’

  ‘No, none, apart from me having to put flowers in the window every time I posted off a consignment of drugs. I was so scared.’

  ‘Two more questions from me. Who would want to blackmail you?’ said Kray.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Who knew you were an addict?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Arrest him.’ Kray shot Tavener a glance and walked out.

  Chapter 44

  Kray sat alone in the incident room. It was way past the end of her shift and the sun was dipping ever closer to the Irish Sea. On the wall were three boards, each one containing a starburst of interconnecting images. At the centres of the sprawling mass of information hung the mug shots of Madeline Eve, Lucy Frost and Joshua Wilson.

  Kray fiddled with her pen and spun the ring around on her finger. She was so engrossed she failed to notice Jackson until he was standing next to her.

  ‘What do you see?’ he asked.

  ‘Jack shit. We’ve only found one thing that connects the two women and absolutely nothing linking them to Wilson. We’ve trawled their Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts, phone records… and have amassed all this detail.’ She waved her hand at the boards. ‘And the only thing that connects the two women is they belong to the same Facebook group. That’s it, nothing else.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘The Facebook group?’

  ‘Something to do with magic, nothing that rang alarm bells, the guys will look into it in the morning. They’ve been at it for days now and that is the only common thread.’

  ‘I hear Aldridge coughed.’

  ‘Yes, we have the blackmail paperwork with forensics but I’m not sure they will find anything. Gorgon is too clever for that.’

  ‘Hey, you said Gorgon without being prompted.’ Jackson felt vindicated at last.

  ‘Yeah maybe its growing on me.’ And maybe it’s fucking not.

  ‘I can’t get over Aldridge being a high-functioning drug addict, who’d have thought it.’

  ‘Takes all sorts I guess.’

  ‘Gorgon must have been watching him for a long time.’

  ‘Single bloke living on his own with money to burn, he’s got to have a few vices he’d rather keep under wraps. We need to question him more thoroughly.’

  Jackson scanned the boards and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘There must be something. He selects them for a reason.’

  ‘I know, that’s the frustrating part.’

  Jackson paused. ‘You okay?’

  ‘No not really.’

  ‘You’ll get a breakthrough, but it will take time.’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have a terrible feeling that he’s not going to wait.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He killed Josh Wilson seven days after he killed Madeline Eve. My gut feel is telling me he won’t wait that long. We’ve got extra patrols out on the streets and Lucy’s photograph is in circulation but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘He’s going to kill again, boss, and soon. I know it, and we’re not doing enough to stop him.’

  I’m on parade.

  I hand five pounds to the driver and motion for him to keep the change. He watches me slide across the back seat and step out onto Parsons Way. Today is different. Madeline was coy and demure, subtlety was the name of the game. Lucy is a little different. Shy and retiring doesn’t get you laid and she had a wild streak a mile wide. Madeline was all ‘butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth’, while Lucy has a mouth that could melt pig iron.

  I look amazing, if I do say so myself. There is something about being Lucy that fits me perfectly. The dress caresses my curves as the breeze reminds me that I live on the north-west coast of England. It’s chilly but I feel hot, my skin is on fire and my heart is racing. I clip-clop my way down Ferron’s Avenue and hang a left into Beresford Road.

  They see me coming.

  A new girl on the block is never welcome because it brings something new to the party and something new always results in a drop in trade. A fresh piece of eye candy causes alliances to be broken and faked relationships dissolve into mush with the bat of an eyelash. I look stunning in the fitted dress and killer heels, more like Hatton Gardens than Beresford Road. Eight pairs of eyes drill into me as I saunter to take up my spot at the end of the line. I walk in a small circle swaying my hips – their look says it all. I glance up at the other girls all doing the same circular walk. I have zero competition.

  A car comes into view and the girls edge to the kerb bending forward at the waist to see who’s cruising. A couple of the hookers turn away, it must be someone they know. Someone who they are in no rush to know again.

  The driver spots me and speeds up passing the others as they look on. He coasts to a halt with his passenger window wound down.

  ‘Hey, love,’ he calls out. ‘You open for business?’

  I peer into the car. He is a big bloke with a week’s stubble colouring his chin. The car is a mess of food wrappers and cans. I shake my head and step away. He curses and speeds up to make another pass at the other girls. He was too big and too confident. I’m looking for someone different. A second vehicle comes into view.

  Kray spoke to the small group of officers in clipped, hurried tones.

  ‘This is the person we are looking for.’ She handed out photographs of Lucy. ‘He’s a slippery bastard and very dangerous. If you get eyes on, do not try to apprehend him on your own, call for backup. We have to make sure he doesn’t do another disappearing act on us. His MO is that he picks up a guy in a bar, drugs him and lures him to a secluded place where he bludgeons him to death. Are we clear?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ was the collective reply.

  ‘Here is a list of venues we believe he went to last time, he might repeat his route. But I also want as much coverage as possible. I realise that’s a tough ask but we need to find this person before he kills again.’

  ‘What about blow job alley, ma’am, where he killed his second victim?’

  ‘I want someone posted there permanently. Got it?’

  They all nodded and headed off into the delights of Blackpool by night. Jackson had listened for once.


  Twelve minutes later Kray was flashing her warrant card at the bouncers on the door of the Purple Parrot. Memories crammed into her head as she scanned the interior. She forced them from her mind to focus on the people in the bar. None of them were Lucy.

  I watch as the latest punter pulls up and chats to one of the girls standing three away from me. They obviously know each other, and I can hear her laughing as she leans into the car. Repeat business is always welcome. She opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. She glares at me as they drive by.

  Fifteen minutes later, another car pulls onto the street. He seems tentative as he checks out the hookers. I watch their reaction and come to the conclusion he must be new. He stops and one of the girls thrusts her bursting cleavage at him through the window. They chat for several minutes and he pulls away. Maybe he’s not a tit man – this could be promising.

  He clocks me and makes a beeline to my spot. I slink to the kerb and wait; he stops next to me with the window down. He leans over, placing his hand onto the passenger seat. ‘Erm, how much, love?’

  ‘That depends.’ He is early forties and looks like he could do with several square meals inside him. His arms are scrawny and I get the faint whiff of polish as I peer through the window. I can see a wedding ring on the third finger of his left hand.

  ‘How much for oral and straight sex?’

  ‘That depends.’ I lean with my elbows against the window ledge to get a better look at him. He looks petrified.

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘How long do you usually last?’

  I can see the cogs whirring: do I tell the truth or do I lie?

  ‘Oh you know, the usual.’

  ‘In my experience, there is no such thing as usual.’ He’s stroking his crotch with his right hand as he stares into my eyes. He’s actually doing the maths in his head.

  ‘Thirty minutes, how about half an hour?’

  I lick the tip of my finger. ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Why?’