Dead Souls: A gripping serial killer thriller with a shocking twist Book 6

by Angela Marsons

  ‘Get your fucking hands off…’

  ‘Hey, pack it in,’ said a second voice, kicking him in the back of his knee.

  His injured knee. He cried out in pain as his left leg buckled.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked, trying to twist and turn out of the hands that gripped him.

  ‘Calm down, fella. This will all go better for you if you don’t struggle.’

  ‘My clothes?’ he asked. ‘Where are my clothes?’

  ‘You won’t be needing them right now,’ said the second voice.

  A third voice sounded from behind him.

  ‘Here’s the bottle.’

  ‘Time for a little drink. You’re sounding a bit dry. Open your mouth.’

  Jacob did as he was told. The plastic landed on his bottom lip and cold water filled his mouth. He swallowed greedily as the liquid quenched the arid thirst in his throat.

  And then he bucked forward, causing the bottle to crash to the ground.

  ‘What the fuck?…’

  The distraction enabled him to pull his right arm free. He immediately reached for the hand clamped at his left elbow. This might be his only chance to escape.

  He squeezed hard on the fleshy fingers and managed to prize them free before hands landed all over his body.

  ‘Not so fast, fella,’ said voice number one.

  Suddenly he felt a hard slap on his bare behind. ‘Just look at that fucking arse,’ said the second voice.

  Jacob heard laughter, the voices seeming to surround him.

  ‘Best not let the boss hear you say that,’ said another. ‘He ain’t here for that kind of entertainment.’

  ‘Yeah, but…’

  He was nobody’s entertainment, Jacob thought as he tried again to pull free. The panic was driving down into his chest, taking away his breath. He had no idea what they were planning on doing with or to him. He had to try and get away.

  ‘Calm down, eh? We ain’t like that,’ said one before sniggering.

  ‘Got some fight, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a good one. Should be a good night once we…’

  ‘Shh… the boss is coming,’ said the third voice.

  From the words around him he suspected this was some random attack. He had been abducted by chance. Chosen for something. And as terrified as he was, he was also relieved. If these men didn’t know who he was, Adaje was safe.

  Suddenly his limbs began to dissolve as a feeling of weakness overcame him.

  He felt his legs begin to buckle beneath him as a numbness stole over his flesh like thousands of crawling insects.

  The water, he realised, too late. They had put something in the water to drug him.

  The hands that were grabbing him pushed him against the wall, and Jacob began to slide against it.

  A vent grate in the wall grazed his back on the way down. He barely felt it as his eyes began to close.

  ‘Is this him, boss? Is this the right one?’ asked one of the voices.

  Jacob felt his chin loll forward onto his chest as a new voice replied:

  ‘Oh yes. He’s the one.’

  THIRTY

  Stacey could feel the tension as her colleagues walked through the door. She looked from one to the other to work out who it was attached to.

  Dawson appeared to have too much colour in his cheeks, and Bryant’s jaw was hard and set.

  ‘Everything okay?’ she asked, automatically.

  ‘Just peachy,’ Dawson grumbled. ‘Gary Flint, the neighbour from hell, is downstairs, just waiting to tell us how much he hates anyone that’s not British born and cotton white.’

  ‘Let it go, Kev,’ Bryant advised.

  Dawson battered his computer keys and seemed surprised when he failed to log in.

  ‘Yeah, well you were hardly hero of the fucking hour,’ Dawson muttered.

  ‘Speak up, Kev,’ Bryant replied. ‘If you’ve got something to say…’

  Stacey sat back in her chair and frowned. Most cases prompted a touch of antagonism between the two of them but, right now, the air was thick with resentment.

  Dawson sat forward, rising to Bryant’s challenge. ‘You said fuck all to him, not a bloody dickie bird. How the hell could you be so calm around such a poisonous, vile?…’

  ‘Kev, did you really think that was a mind we were ever going to change?’ he answered, patiently.

  ‘Yeah but…’

  ‘Listen, I hate everyone who thinks it’s okay to drink and drive. I hate everyone who thinks it’s okay to have sexual feelings towards children. I hate every man who ever thought it was okay to rape a woman. The list goes on, and I hate them all but I can’t pin every one of them up a fucking wall, can I?’

  Stacey’s eyes widened at the curse from her colleague. Bryant’s voice had risen steadily throughout his explanation. There was something unnerving about seeing him losing his cool. His unruffled manner normally held them all together.

  What the hell was going on between these two? Stacey wondered. And where was the boss to sort it out? She could normally defuse the tension between them with one sentence.

  ‘Who’s interviewing him?’ Stacey asked, trying to refocus their attention on the case and away from each other.

  ‘Me,’ said Dawson.

  ‘I am,’ said Bryant at the same time.

  Yeah, that had worked out well for her. From where she was sitting, either one of them would be a disaster. This Gary Flint had managed to aggravate them both.

  ‘How about I do it?’ Stacey asked.

  ‘Not a fucking chance,’ Dawson shot back.

  Stacey felt the irritation bubble inside her.

  ‘Well, you clearly cor,’ she observed, as his hand clenched around his pen. ‘He’s managed to rattle you, already.’

  ‘Sorry, Stace, but you’re not going anywhere near him,’ Dawson repeated.

  Stacey bristled at the finality of the statement. He had no bloody right to tell her what to do. Yes, he was a sergeant and she was a constable, and officially he outranked her, but they had never played that way.

  ‘Kev, I’m a bloody police officer who—’

  ‘And he is a filthy piece of shit who should be lobotomised and then boiled like a lobster,’ Dawson offered.

  ‘Bryant?’ she appealed.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m with Dawson on this.’

  Bloody great, she thought. The one time they decided to agree, it was against her.

  She threw down her pen. ‘This is because he’s a racist pig?’ she asked.

  They looked at each other and said nothing.

  ‘You’re trying to protect me against a bigot that hates black people?’

  ‘Stace, he’s not just a bigot. He’s vicious…’

  ‘Then where the hell were you when I was five years old, Kev?’ she stormed. ‘Cos there’s nothing more vicious than a group of kids making monkey gestures at you every day.’

  The memory still burned, almost twenty years on.

  ‘Stace, we just don’t want…’

  ‘Kev, listen to me,’ she said, as Bryant answered his phone. ‘I dow even care about people like Gary Flint. Although I find his views sickening and repulsive, I appreciate his honesty. He cor hurt me because his opinion means nothing to me.’

  She picked up her pen and stabbed the desk with it. ‘Do you want to know what really gets my goat?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It’s all the people who claim they’re not racist and qualify the claim with “my best friend is black” or “my boyfriend’s sister’s partner’s next-door neighbour’s cat is black”. I hate the way people search around their social circle for a token black person on which to pin their declaration. Now that annoys me. Not the overt, mouthy bastards shouting loudly that they’re racist, but the stealthy ones who constantly claim they’re not.’

  Kev looked at her aghast. ‘You prefer Gary Flint to…’

  ‘I prefer people that are consistent in their views and stand for their convictions, however warped they migh
t be. People who refuse to order a Chinese takeaway or won’t use the corner shop for a pint of milk because it’s owned by a Pakistani family. These people are idiots but you can spot ’em a mile off.’

  ‘Jesus, Stace, not everyone is…’

  ‘Kev, how did your parents react when the first black or Asian family moved into your street?’ she asked, pointedly.

  He frowned and shook his head. ‘They weren’t at all bothered,’ he said.

  ‘At all?’ she pushed.

  ‘Well, they were cautious. Understandably.’

  Stacey felt the sad smile creep onto her face.

  ‘Why cautious and why understandably?’ she asked, quietly.

  She could see the colour seeping into Dawson’s face as he realised how easily and naturally he had accepted his family’s suspicion of a ‘foreign’ presence. And agreed with it.

  Stacey held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

  ‘No one is interviewing Flint,’ said Bryant.

  His words thundered between them.

  ‘His alibi is watertight. He was at work all night. And as he’s no longer part of Henryk’s investigation, Woody has passed him on to another team to question him about the threats to the family. He wants our focus completely on the assault case.’

  Stacey nodded and reached for her handbag.

  She had to get out of the office. And she knew where she had to go.

  Something had shifted between herself and her colleague. Something she would struggle to define.

  As she passed by his desk, she paused.

  ‘Kev, it’s people like you I fear, way more than Gary Flint.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Both Kim and Travis were silent once they got back into the car.

  The male victim had been rushed away in an ambulance while the medic was still working to keep him alive. The female was en route to the morgue and the van driver was being checked over in the second ambulance.

  Traffic officers had cordoned off the road and got vehicles moving again, while uniforms had begun corralling all potential witnesses. More CID officers had arrived, relieving them, and a specialist RTA investigative team was just a couple of miles out. They hadn’t left until the scene had been in order.

  ‘You wanna go back to the station?’ she asked, starting the engine.

  They had just dealt with a traumatic incident, Travis more so than her.

  He shook his head and focussed on a spot of blood on his thumb.

  ‘You want to pop back for anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Nah, I’m good,’ she said. She was surprised he’d asked. It was the closest he’d come to being human with her since they’d started this case. Part of her wanted to take this opportunity to address the issues of the past. But now was not the time. Detective Inspector or not, the adrenaline was still surging around his body trying to moderate itself back to normal. What he needed right now was to be left alone. And for once she was happy to oblige.

  It wasn’t until she turned into the drive of Donnay Hall, on the outskirts of Bromsgrove, that she offered a little whistle.

  It was a property she had passed many times and assumed it was a National Trust site, not a family home. The pristine gravel separated two lush green lawns and appeared to lead directly to the front door that was set at the centre of the Elizabethan mansion.

  As she progressed towards it, the trees lining the driveway gave way to an open view of the oversized fountains on either side. Symmetrical dolphins spouted water at each other across the front entrance.

  Had Bryant been in the car beside her they would have played their ‘guess the value of the property’ game. Her opening bid would have been a little shy of 8 million.

  Jeez, how she missed Bryant.

  She briefly considered confessing to the crimes herself if it would end this investigation, and her torture, quicker. With good behaviour, she could be out just before she died.

  Kim parked her car between a brand new Range Rover and a motorcycle. Although, Kim knew from one glance it was no ordinary motorcycle.

  A man appeared from the side of the house, trailed by two black Labradors. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the low November sun and then began to move towards them.

  There was an assurance in the stride that Kim detected immediately. His casual attire of jeans, jumper and gilet said ‘gardener’. His confidence said ‘Owner’.

  He held out his hand and smiled. ‘Bart Preece,’ he said, simply.

  Kim returned the handshake while introducing both herself and Travis. His touch was cool and firm, not unpleasant. She appreciated his omission of any qualification, or explanation, just simply his name. She’d already met the older brother at the gravesite, and the similarity between the two was breathtaking.

  ‘Thank you for the flowers that you took to the grave,’ Kim said.

  He was as handsome as his brother, but his face was open and relaxed. His black hair fell just over his eyes.

  He shrugged in a ‘least I could do?’ kind of way.

  ‘Nice bike,’ she said, nodding backwards.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, casually.

  ‘It’s an Ecosse,’ she clarified, in case he didn’t realise. ‘Titanium, 2,400 cc billet engine with 225 horsepower at the rear wheel.’

  He laughed out loud. The sound was pleasant.

  ‘I’m sorry, officer,’ he said. ‘Please excuse my manners. I didn’t mean to be rude, I just didn’t expect that.’

  She smiled at his apology. People rarely did expect her motorcycle knowledge. Especially men. She also knew that it was the most expensive production motorcycle ever made and cost roughly three hundred thousand pounds. Only thirteen had ever been produced. Not many people could afford more than a quarter of a million for a motorbike.

  ‘Want to take a closer look?’ he asked, as Travis sniffed his displeasure beside her.

  Oh boy, did she ever. She would love to inspect the predominantly carbon fibre material used to keep the weight low. She ached to stroke the hand-crafted Berluti leather seat.

  She shook her head. ‘Not right now,’ she answered. She was here to do her job.

  ‘I assume you’re here about the discovery on Cowley’s land,’ he said, turning serious.

  ‘Well, your land,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘We don’t really see it as ours any more. They’ve been there for so long.’

  The dogs milled around his legs, wagging their tails but not stepping forward.

  ‘We’d like to get a bit more information about the family; dates, that kind of thing,’ Kim explained.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, turning to the door. ‘That’ll be my brother you want.’

  Kim kept pace with Bart while Travis lagged behind.

  Bart leaned towards her, conspiratorially. ‘As the younger brother, I am spared the minutiae of the business. I prefer the great outdoors,’ he said, with a smile.

  ‘So, your role is?’

  ‘I tend the grounds, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Well, to be fair, myself and a team of seven,’ he admitted. ‘And to be even fairer, they do most of the hard work.’

  Despite his magnanimous attitude towards his staff, she was guessing he did his job very well. The estate grounds that she could see were immaculate.

  ‘How much land does the property have?’ she asked, following him inside the house.

  ‘Twenty-seven acres,’ he said, passing through the hallway as he spoke. The dogs followed faithfully behind.

  He passed without a second glance at the stained glass panels embossed with family crests or at the life-size portraits of what must be his ancestors lining the walls.

  Unaffected was the word that came to Kim’s mind when describing the man guiding her. Even amongst the grandeur through which he strolled so nonchalantly, Bart’s thoughts appeared to remain outside.

  ‘We have an orchard, an ornamental lake, a seventeen-peg fishing lake, and fallow deer woods at the southern edge.’

  There was
a great deal of pride in his words.

  Bart paused before a dark wooden door that looked heavy. He tapped lightly and then pushed it open.

  The Labradors charged through the door.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Bart, get those mutts out of—’

  The man stopped speaking as he saw them.

  ‘My brother, Dale,’ Bart said, waving them through and ignoring the chastisement.

  ‘We’ve met,’ Kim said, entering the room.

  Seeing the two of them together, Kim noted that Dale Preece was as dark as his brother but with an extra few pounds. She reminded herself of the difference in age. She knew it was only a couple of years but it appeared greater, due to the severe business suit and annoyed scowl of the older Preece.

  Dale Preece offered a small kick to the Labrador closest to his feet. There was a small yelp before Bart called Ant and Dec back to him.

  Kim ignored the frisson of irritation within her and continued to appraise the man before her whose blue eyes were serious, intense.

  Bart nodded in her direction as he ushered the dogs out and closed the door after him.

  Handsome and rich; Kim could only imagine the time these boys had had in school.

  ‘Mr Preece, now is the time we need to speak to you about the discovery on your land,’ she said.

  He nodded absently as he sat and pointed to two chairs, indicating they should do the same.

  As she sat she glanced beyond him to the view. Two rows of fruit trees formed an archway that travelled far into the distance. A figure with warm blonde hair appeared to be strolling and pausing occasionally to tend the trees.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, shortly. ‘I’ve been on the phone with the solicitors half the morning.’

  ‘Why?’ Kim asked.

  ‘To clarify our culpability as owners of the land, of course.’ He moved some papers around forcefully. ‘I pay them enough for a straight answer,’ he said.

  ‘The only person “culpable” is the person who committed the crime,’ Kim said, wondering if that answer was straight enough.

  ‘Thank you, Inspector but if you don’t mind I’ll take that under advisement.’

  Suit yourself, Kim thought, feeling a little irritated by his manner.