DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Book 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  The university picked up, and I got through to the dean quickly after I’d said who I was and that we were concerned a student was in danger. The dean didn’t know of any students that had been reported missing and seemed affronted when I asked whether he might not have been informed.

  “Anything?” Stephen asked as I hung up. We were getting close to the station now.

  I shook my head. “He says no students have been reported missing.”

  “That’s… good?”

  I tipped my head side to side. “Maybe, maybe not. If Will was winding us up, then yeah. But if he wasn’t and it’s not a student, then finding out who might’ve been taken is going to start looking impossible. The number of missing people in York is a lot.”

  Stephen grunted. He swung us into the entrance of the station and parked up. We headed in, and I jogged up the stairs while Stephen took the lift. I was mid- way through logging onto the system to look for new missing persons reports when Stephen joined me.

  “Maybe we’re coming at this the wrong way round.”

  I looked up from the screen. “In what way?”

  “Instead of trying to find out who was taken and working forwards, how about we start with the end, so to speak?”

  I clicked my fingers. “Where he put them, you mean?” Stephen nodded. “Good idea. I’ll run this search first, and then we can look into that.”

  “Alright. I’ll get you some of your rocket fuel. I think we’re both running on fumes.”

  With all the tension, I’d barely thought about eating, and when I glanced at my watch and saw that it was almost three, I blinked in surprise.

  “Late lunch in a minute?” I offered.

  Stephen snorted. “Hopeless you are.”

  I went back to the search, leaning my head on my hand. Now that Stephen had mentioned it, my stomach was growling. I studied the results the system had thrown up, but there had been no students reported missing in the last week.

  Looking further back, I found two; a guy and a woman. The man had shown up again a week ago, but the female student was still missing. I scanned the report, frowning at the date. She’d gone missing a good two weeks before we’d picked Will up, and I didn’t know if that was reassuring or not. Had he really kidnapped this woman three weeks ago and been keeping her ever since? It didn’t seem so likely, but I couldn’t rule it out. Everything we’d seen so far pointed to Will being a meticulous planner and it was possible that he’d organised this too.

  I looked up the social media accounts belonging to the missing student, Lizzie Adams, and my gut sank.

  Stephen came back with my coffee, and I took an absent-minded sip, barely noticing how it burnt my tongue.

  “Mitchell?” Stephen said. “You found something?”

  I turned the screen to face him and waited while he looked it over. It was pne of her social media pages, with numerous pictures of her playing netball. There was a post from almost a year ago that showed her celebrating her scholarship.

  “What’s this?” Stephen asked, though his expression said that he could guess. “Is she… is she missing?”

  “She’s been missing for three weeks.”

  “And she has a sports scholarship for York?” he asked. I nodded. “Let’s talk to her flatmates.”

  His face had gone pale, and I felt like mine was the same. The thought of the poor student being locked up somewhere by Will didn’t bear thinking about, and I clung to the hope that he was just enjoying pulling our strings. Thinking of him enjoying torturing us didn’t upset me nearly as much as if this turned out to be true.

  Calling Lizzie’s flatmates didn’t lead to any solid confirmation or denial of our theory. They didn’t remember any Will Seton, or Cal Melville, nor any men matching their descriptions, being seen around Lizzie. But they’d also said that it wasn’t like Lizzie to just disappear, and that she’d been a dedicated student and passionate netball player.

  Hearing them talk about her made me feel both increasingly worried, and more determined. We fetched lunch from the shop and then drove over to Will’s bedsit, where we were let in by one of the residents.

  I looked over the small space and shook my head. “The team scoured this place. There’s nothing here. He’s not stupid enough to leave anything in plain sight like that.”

  “I agree.”

  I rubbed a hand through my hair and tried to think where else Will might have spent his time. The victim from the club had been taken away and then driven back; where had Will taken them to?

  “We’ve got his full name now,” Stephen started, and I turned to look at him. “We can find out what pub he worked out, or the tech team can anyway, from his tax forms or whatever.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Good idea. Maybe his colleagues might know something. Give the guys at the station a call on that, and I’ll try his parents?”

  Stephen got on the phone and so did I, both us sitting down at Will’s tiny kitchen table to make our calls. Looking at where he lived, I could see how he’d been bitter. He’d been promised a scholarship and a bright future, and then he’d ruined it all. Now he was blaming it on everyone but himself.

  “Hello, it’s DCI Mitchell,” I said, when Will’s parents picked up. I asked them about Will’s hobbies, about where he might hide out or spend his time outside of the house.

  “He’s not got free, has he?” his mum asked, sounding aghast.

  “No! No, nothing like that,” I reassured her quickly, sorry that I’d worried her. “We’re trying to track down something he’s hidden.” I paused. It was a reach, but it was my view that thoroughness made up for lack of genius policing, and it didn’t hurt to follow up every single lead. “Could you check any outhouses or sheds on your land?”

  “We only have the one shed,” she said, but agreed to check it for me. “He hasn’t been here in so long, though.”

  “I know. Thank you, Mrs Seton.”

  Stephen was done with his call to the tech team, and I sent him a despondent shrug once I was off the phone.

  “What now?”

  “We wait for the tech team to get back to us.”

  We did give Will’s place another look over, and the communal kitchen, too, to be certain, but there really wasn’t anything here. We would have to wait and hope that discovering Will’s old place of employment would open up a new, useful avenue of inquiry because, as it stood, we were stuck again.

  Twenty-One

  The end of the day arrived before the tech team got back to us and, though there were things to be getting on with, there wasn’t any urgent need to stay late. There wasn’t anything we could do, though I knew that Stephen was as uneasy as I was.

  “I suppose you’re off on a run?” he asked as we were heading out.

  “Aye. My head feels fine, so I can’t see that it’ll hurt.”

  Stephen gave me a dubious look. “Well, enjoy it, mate. And don’t go off following any weirdos in the dark.”

  “Alright, alright,” I chuckled. “I’ll make sure anybody I follow is totally normal.”

  Stephen cracked a smile. “Yeah, sounds good.” He stared at my face for a second and I frowned at him.

  “What? Have I got biscuit crumbs on me?” I rubbed my hand over my cheek, which was growing bristly.

  “No, I was looking at your eye. Pretty impressive bruiser.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, ugly. At least Taylor hasn’t got to see it, aye?”

  “That’s one positive.”

  “And it looks bad, but it’s less swollen.” It hurt less when I turned my head, accidentally brushed against the swelling, and talking and eating wasn’t as uncomfortable.

  “You could try some witch hazel on it?” Stephen offered before he headed off towards the exit.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I called after him. I remembered my mum using witch hazel on my bruised knees as a kid, but I certainly didn’t have any in the flat these days. The number of scrapes I got into, though, maybe I ought to have a better stocked first aid kit
.

  I headed off to get changed for my run, eagerly looking forward to going on any kind of run that wasn’t me trying to grab a criminal. I’d ordered new trainers with better grip, but they hadn’t arrived yet, so I settled for my scruffy, old ones for now.

  It wasn’t dark out yet, but the light was getting lower in the sky. I took a looping, winding run home that I’d planned whilst I’d been nursing my head injury, which seemed to be holding up alright. It was more the black eye that had been bothering me, and the gash in my hand that made everything from driving to holding my toothbrush sting a little.

  After having nearly two weeks off, my legs got rubbery much too fast. I was breathing harder than usual, but I pushed on regardless. I’d planned the route out in my head but didn’t realise until I was actually close that the run I’d come up with passed relatively close to Will’s flat. I pulled to a stop at the end of the side road that led to his place and leaned against a wall as I stretched my legs out and got my breath back.

  A car rushed past on the main road beside me and, though it was hardly the only car on the road at this time of day, I turned to watch it drive away as a thought occurred to me. Did Will have a car? I hadn’t thought to ask the tech guys if there was a vehicle registered to his name. Living in York, he could easily have just stuck to public transport, walking or cycling, but he’d also visited his parents, who were so far out in the countryside that a taxi there would’ve cost a fortune, especially for someone who was likely on minimum wage.

  I chewed my lip and set off jogging down the street towards Will’s. It wasn’t dark, and I wasn’t following anyone, so I wasn’t technically doing what Stephen had told me not to. Still, I didn’t like the idea of his friends lurking about the flat, so I ran on the opposite side of the road and tried not to make my interest obvious.

  It looked like how I remembered, and there certainly wasn’t any space for cars to be parked outside, so there had to be somewhere else for them. I couldn’t see any underground car park, so there must be garages around somewhere. I jogged further down the run-down street, passing council houses and a lit-up corner shop.

  I spotted it: a group of grey concrete parking garages, built about as cheaply as you could manage. But they were all little, sealed off units and my heart rate sped up thinking about how they could be exactly what Stephen and I had been looking for in terms of a place for Will to take his victims back to. There would be no need to hide the transporting of a person or a body between his car and his flat if he drove straight into the garage and never took the victim out of it.

  I turned in a circle to scan the area, looking for cameras, but this wasn’t the sort of place that had the funding for security like that. I wondered briefly about leaving this to be dealt with in the morning, but there was still the chance that Will really had captured this girl, Lizzie, and I couldn’t take the risk that she was in one of these daggy little garages.

  So I called up Gaskell, who was none too pleased to hear from me at this time, but became business-like when I told him where I was and my suspicions.

  “I’ll send someone out.”

  “Might need forensics, sir,” I told him. “And possibly an ambulance, too.”

  Gaskell paused. “I’m not convinced that Seton really-”

  “No, neither am I, sir,” I said. “If we do need paramedics, I’ll call them out after.”

  Gaskell made a noise of agreement. “A couple of DS’s should be with you soon.”

  He hung up after that. I sent a brief text off to Stephen, so he knew what was going on, but made it clear that he didn’t need to come out. Better that he stay with his family.

  The two detective sergeants Gaskell had promised me turned up quickly and got efficiently to work under my instructions. We contacted Seton’s landlord to find out which garage was his and for the spare keys to open it with.

  The forensics team turned up soon afterwards, and I hoped fiercely that I hadn’t called these guys out here for nothing. Gaskell would have something to say about all the overtime if there was nothing here but dusty junk.

  I stood a little way back as the garage was opened, keeping out of the way. Forensics were keen to keep the area as undisturbed as possible, in case there was any physical evidence to be found, which I fervently hoped there was.

  As the garage door was cracked open, I could picture all too-easily a young woman tied up inside. The relief when it was all opened up, and there was nothing in there, but the car was immense. Of course, I knew it was a possibility that Will could’ve found somewhere else to hide her or had killed her weeks ago and dropped her body in the Ooze, but I thought this had been the most likely hiding place and so finding it empty lifted a weight off my mind.

  I left forensics to crawl over the place and replied to Stephen’s several texts, wanting to know what was happening. I filled him in, and sent another text to Gaskell, too, to keep him updated.

  “Sir!” one of the forensics team called me over. I slipped on some booties and gloves and carefully moved over to stand beside her.

  “Found something?”

  The woman, suited up in white, pointed to the garage wall. My eyes widened, and my stomach dropped, making me feel instantly sick.

  “Jesus.”

  There was a metal loop bolted to the brick, and it looked freshly installed. It stood out from the rest of the small garage because the space around it had been cleared of rubbish. I looked at the floor and gritted my teeth at the dark stain on the concrete.

  “He probably tied them up here,” the forensics woman said quietly.

  I grunted, feeling like ants were crawling over my skin. “Is there anything else?” I asked gruffly.

  She shook her head. “Not yet, but we’ll be thorough.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  I walked back outside, badly needing the fresh air. One of the forensics team must have let Gaskell know about the find because he turned up soon after, dressed in civilian clothes but looking smart, whilst I was still in my sweaty running gear.

  Gaskell came over and gave me a pat on the back, which wasn’t like him. “You’ve done your part,” he said. “Head on home. We’ll update you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  I ran the rest of the way home feeling much lighter than I had when I’d set out.

  The next morning, Stephen demanded a full rundown of the evening.

  “I can’t believe you went running off again on your own, after the last couple of weeks, Darren!” he said, once I’d finished.

  I grimaced. “I figured the risk was low.”

  Stephen shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t learn, you don’t.”

  “What if there had been a student there?” I protested. “Was I just supposed to leave her overnight?”

  “No, you should’ve called me or Gaskell or some other officer to buddy up with you!”

  “What if there’d been nothing though?”

  Stephen sent me an exasperated look. “If there’d been nothing, at least you would’ve been okay. What if one of Seton’s guys had been hanging about and attacked you?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, okay. Point taken.”

  “A false alarm is better than not ringing the alarm at all.”

  “Aye, alright,” I said, giving him a glare. “I got it.”

  He huffed, but reluctantly changed the subject. “Gaskell told me that from the list of addresses on Cal’s phone, this missing student, Lizzie, isn’t on there.”

  I nodded. “It’s pointing towards just being one of Seton’s mind games,” I agreed. “But, playing the devil's advocate, I could argue that he might’ve changed his pattern once he knew we were getting nearer to him.”

  Stephen conceded that with a nod.

  We headed out to visit the pub that the tech team had tracked down as being Seton’s place of employment, less because we thought there’d be anything useful there than to round up any loose ends.

  We got back around lunchtime and treated oursel
ves to fish and chips from the chippie down the road. I had grease all over my fingers and a mouthful of ketchup and batter when Gaskell came over to our desks. I looked up like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t and hurriedly cleaned my fingers off on one of the chippie’s cheap napkins.

  “Sir?”

  Gaskell looked uncharacteristically happy, with his eyes bright and his mouth tilted into a small smile.

  “The student’s turned up!” he said. My shoulders dropped down, and I grinned.

  “That’s great,” I said warmly, and Stephen patted my shoulder, looking over the moon as well.

  Gaskell nodded. “She went off on a spontaneous trip to Wales with a new boyfriend, apparently.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And she couldn’t have told her flatmates?”

  Gaskell sighed. “Apparently not. Anyway, she’s safe and sound, so we’ll drop the search and focus on getting Seton dealt with.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “It is.” Gaskell nodded firmly. “And partly due to your determination and thoroughness, Mitchell, Huxley,” he looked between Stephen and me, “that we have a chance of getting Seton to take the fall like he deserves. Good work, both of you.”

  I took it as a sign of me being tired and badly in need of a break that I felt slightly choked up in response to Gaskell’s praise.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, and Stephen echoed me.

  Gaskell strode off, leaving us to our lunch, and I glanced over at Stephen, who looked chuffed. He sent me a bright grin when he saw me looking.

  “Not too shabby, country boy,” he said warmly.

  I cuffed him on the head. “Thanks a bunch.”

  We had reports to write up, and the results from the forensics sweep of Seton’s garage were still coming back. They looked promising so far.

  “You heard about the hair they found in the boot?” Stephen said.

  I nodded. “Aye. Thank God. Any evidence they find is going to help. Will’s going to wriggle like a hooked fish trying to get out of this.”