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

by Angela Marsons

  Kim folded her arms.

  ‘Well, one of you is lying. Shall we try that one again.’

  She turned to Jeff Cowley.

  ‘I prefer your answer, Mr Cowley, so shall we start with you?’

  ‘He’s confused,’ Fiona said, stepping forward.

  ‘He doesn’t seem very confused to me, Miss Cowley. It would appear that you are confused, and if you’d give your father a chance to speak for himself I’d like to hear what he has to say.’

  Kim knew her voice had risen, and the colour had fallen from Jeff Cowley’s face.

  ‘Mr Cowley?…’

  ‘Can’t this wait?’ Fiona asked. ‘We were about to go and visit my brother in hospital.’

  ‘Please feel free to leave us, Miss Cowley. We can drop your father off once we’re finished.’

  It was an empty offer on Kim’s part. She knew there was no way Fiona was going anywhere.

  She took a seat on the sofa and Kim instantly sat beside her, leaving Jeff Cowley nowhere to sit but the single chair. On his own and away from his daughter.

  ‘You were saying, Mr Cowley?’ Kim pressed.

  Mr Cowley ran his hand back and forth over his bald head.

  ‘Jacob James did some casual work on the farm, more than twenty years ago. The kids were very young, they wouldn’t remember him,’ he said, trying to excuse his daughter’s premature denial.

  ‘My father’s health was beginning to fail, and I couldn’t do all the work myself. We were busy then, successful,’ he said. ‘Jacob worked with us for just a couple of months.’

  Kim waited for the rest of the story.

  Fiona stood. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘You have your answer, now…’

  ‘Please sit down, Miss Cowley,’ Travis said, with authority.

  She sat.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Kim pushed.

  ‘No, I think…’

  ‘Why did he leave?’ Kim asked, losing patience.

  ‘He fell down. He couldn’t work.’

  ‘You mean he fell down a faulty pair of ladders you supplied for him to work on top of the barn.’

  ‘Dad, don’t—’

  ‘Was that you or your father?’

  ‘My father gave—’

  ‘Your father gave an employee faulty equipment to use?’

  ‘Dad—’

  ‘Well… he didn’t know…’

  ‘And the ladders broke, didn’t they?’ Kim asked. She didn’t particularly like this method of questioning but if she waited for too long Fiona would find some way to intervene.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered.

  ‘And Jacob James shattered his knee in the fall?’

  ‘He was hurt, yes.’

  ‘He couldn’t work, could he?’ she pushed.

  ‘Well, I don’t know…’

  ‘Dad…’ Fiona warned.

  ‘And he instructed a solicitor to act on his behalf.’

  ‘I don’t recall—’

  ‘Jacob was suing your family, wasn’t he?’ Kim asked.

  ‘I’m sorry but—’

  ‘Tell me, Mr Cowley, who was it that met with Mr James and tried to buy him off?’

  Fiona protested again. Just as Kim’s phone began to ring.

  Damn it, she’d been on the verge of getting something out of him. Now her momentum had been broken he would have time to recover.

  ‘Doctor A,’ she said, sharply.

  ‘Untwist your knickers, Inspector. I have something you might wanting to know.’

  Kim excused herself and stepped back into the kitchen.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you should know that the bullet is a match,’ she said.

  ‘So the bullet from Billy Cowley’s neck definitely came from the gun at the scene?’ she clarified.

  ‘Absolutely not, Inspector. The bullet did not come from the gun at the scene.’

  Kim was momentarily confused.

  ‘So what is a match?’

  ‘The bullet that came from Mr Cowley and the bullet that came from the grave.’

  Kim gripped the phone harder. The incidents were almost three decades apart.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

  ‘I will try not to be insulted as I assume you ask me that out of shock.’

  Kim apologised, thanked her and ended the call.

  There was only one person who could have been present for both.

  Kim strode back into the lounge and stood before Jeff Cowley.

  ‘Mr Cowley, I am arresting you for the murder of Jacob James and for the attempted murder of your son William Cowley. You do not—’

  Fiona Cowley’s screams drowned out the rest of her words.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Stacey felt the disgust crawling all over her.

  She had read Justin’s posts from six months ago. A few selfies, a couple of meal photos, Justin at a few pubs and clubs in Stourbridge.

  And then the posts had begun to change.

  The first few were from Britain First. Particular stories exploited from a sensationalist point of view. Stacey often saw these posts floating around her own Facebook timeline and tried to ignore them. And yet she still took note of the people who shared them.

  A few of Justin’s friends began commenting about the ‘rubbish’ he was sharing.

  Eventually, the comical clips from places like UNILAD died out altogether, and the posts from Britain First gave way to posts from the EDL and then onto posts so offensive to minority groups she could barely calm her stomach enough to read them.

  But she had read on and by the time she reached the top of his feed, she saw the final post which had caused most of Justin’s friends to abuse him.

  Justin had shared a video clip of a young mixed-race couple being terrorised and eventually beaten by a group of masked youths while their toddler had screamed and cried in the background. Stacey remembered seeing the clip on Crimewatch and the wails of the child had stayed with her for days. Justin’s header had stated ‘wish I’d been able to join in with this’.

  That last offensive post had been placed on the twelfth, two weeks ago.

  Something stirred in her stomach.

  A date that had stuck in her mind.

  She clicked back into his activity log and saw why the date had mattered.

  It was on the twelfth that Floda had sent Justin a friend request.

  Stacey had a sudden idea.

  She grabbed her phone and set to work.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Kim watched as a West Mercia squad car left the Cowley property with Jeff Cowley on board.

  ‘Hopefully our time together is almost at an end,’ Travis said.

  ‘Do you think?’ she said, ruefully. ‘We don’t have a confession, and two bodies are not yet identified.’

  She started the car and headed to the narrow track that led away from the property.

  Fiona continued to watch her from the doorway.

  Kim entered the main road traffic and drove slowly, before she pulled into a petrol station and killed the engine.

  ‘What the hell are we doing now?’ Travis asked.

  ‘Waiting,’ she said, simply.

  She stared into her side mirror until the red Jaguar passed behind.

  ‘Bingo,’ she said, starting the engine. Fiona had wasted no time in leaving the family home.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Travis said, as she pulled into traffic two cars behind Fiona. ‘She’s probably heading to the station to be near her dad or to the hospital to see her brother.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kim replied, but Fiona Cowley was rattled. And people thought differently in heightened states of emotion. They took risks.

  At every opportunity she had acted like a human gag around her father, attempting to silence every word. Any involvement or control from her was impossible now that Jeff was in police hands, but Kim was curious to know what the woman would do next.

  ‘You know this is some form of harassment, don’t you?’


  ‘Absolutely. But I still want to know where she’s going,’ Kim said, simply.

  ‘Yeah, I’m quite interested too,’ he admitted.

  ‘So, which one of them pulled the trigger on Jacob James?’ she asked as a third car pulled in behind Fiona. ‘Jeff or his father?’

  ‘We don’t know that either of them did.’

  ‘Tom, have you forgotten how police work is? You’re given dots and you have to join them up. Jacob James disappeared over twenty-seven years ago. His skeleton is found on Cowley land with a bullet hole and a bullet that matches the same one removed from Jeff’s son. You don’t think these dots are begging to be joined up?’

  ‘Not until we’ve got the gun that fired both bullets,’ he said.

  ‘But who else could it be?’ she asked.

  ‘The person that has the gun.’

  Kim gave up. She wasn’t sure they could agree on the time of day even if they were smack bang in the centre of Greenwich.

  ‘Well, that’s the hospital out,’ Travis said as Fiona ignored the left turn that would have taken her towards Russells Hall.

  ‘Not too concerned about her dear brother, then?’ Kim observed.

  Even Travis was watching the car intently now.

  ‘And we should have taken the first exit to head towards Kidderminster,’ Kim said as two cars exited left at the island.

  Only a Land Rover Discovery separated them now.

  They continued to follow Fiona in silence until she indicated a turn to the right.

  Kim continued driving past.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that,’ she said, as the car disappeared from view.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  ‘So what was that in there?’ Bryant asked, as he directed the car away from Hollytree. ‘You reacted to the scar that Aisha mentioned?’

  Dawson shook his head. ‘Not sure yet. It might be something or nothing. Let me think on it.’

  Bryant shrugged.

  They saw the sign for club Nexus being erected as Dawson pulled in opposite a car dealership on the Hagley Road. Two vans were parked right outside the premises which had once been a high street bank.

  ‘Left, left, up, more,’ shouted a man wearing black trousers, purple polo neck jumper and high-visibility vest.

  ‘Nigel Townsend?’ Dawson asked as they approached.

  The man turned and scrutinised them. It took just a second for him to register they were police officers.

  He nodded and removed his hard hat, revealing thick black hair that tumbled down on to a handsome face.

  ‘Please, come inside,’ he said, stepping inside.

  Bryant cast a cautionary glance up before stepping underneath the neon sign hovering precariously between two ladders.

  He followed the reflective figure through the darkness of a building site, weaving around piles of ceramic tiles and timber.

  ‘In here,’ he said, turning left into the male toilets. This area had been tiled in plain white oversized squares. Four urinals and two toilets had been shoved against the wall in the corner to make room for a desk.

  ‘Only place I can access right now,’ he explained, perching on the edge of the desk and offering Bryant the chair.

  As Dawson took a seat on one of the toilets, Bryant had to wonder at the ridiculousness of this situation.

  ‘It’s one of those things that I’ll laugh about when it’s over. Just not right now,’ Nigel said.

  ‘We’re here about Bubba,’ Bryant said.

  ‘Of course you are; but please don’t call him that. His name was Brandon. Bubba was a name he gave himself, pretty much like everything else.’

  Bryant was not surprised to see the lower lip of the good-looking man tremble.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dawson asked from the corner.

  ‘You must know his background. He grew up in foster homes. Even his name was given to him by the vicar on whose doorstep he was left. Brandon had no clue about his parents or background so he made it up himself…’

  ‘He mentioned his grandmother to me,’ Dawson said.

  Nigel shook his head. ‘Someone’s grandmother, officer, but certainly not his.’

  ‘May I ask how you found out about his death?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘A call, just ten minutes before it scrolled across the ticker tape of the twenty-four hour news channel. Short-term boyfriends don’t take priority, it seems.’

  ‘Who called?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘Frost?’ Dawson added.

  ‘Does it matter?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t make him any less dead, does it?’ He swallowed deeply. ‘You must think I’m a complete arse being here the day after…’

  ‘Actually, I don’t,’ Bryant said. Keeping busy was his way of dealing with grief too. ‘But do you have any idea who might want to hurt Bu— Brandon?’

  Nigel shook his head, sadly. ‘You know he was gay?’

  ‘Of course, but…’

  ‘No, I mean, really gay.’

  Bryant tried to keep up. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t know what you mean.’

  Nigel sighed heavily. ‘I’ve known I preferred men since I was eleven years old, officer. I make no apologies for my sexuality but, guess what, I want the same things as your young colleague over there. I want to find someone to love, get married, maybe have children and lead a productive life. Brandon just wanted to be gay.’

  ‘So what did that mean?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘He was aggressively homosexual, officer. I am a rainbow-flag flying member of my community too but Brandon wanted to challenge everyone who disagrees with our lifestyle.’

  ‘And you don’t?’ Dawson asked, leaning forward.

  ‘I want to live my life too. I refuse to hang on to hate and negativity, but Brandon thrived on it, invited it any opportunity he got. He would grab my hand or kiss me in public to provoke a response and then confront it.’

  ‘I don’t get how that is wrong,’ Dawson said from the corner. ‘Why isn’t he allowed to express his affection in public? Fair play to him for challenging the bigots.’

  Nigel smiled. ‘If only the rest of the world agreed with you, officer.’

  ‘Did he have any particular enemies that you’re aware of?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘Oh please, he was a homosexual newspaper reporter. Take your pick.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘I told him,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘I bloody told him that kind of stuff would get him hurt but he was a gay man that liked to be noticed.’

  A dozen thoughts began to swirl around Bryant’s head as an unwanted notion screamed in his mind. He pushed the chair back and stood. He needed to get out and think, try and put these thoughts together.

  He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Townsend, and we are deeply sorry for your loss.’

  He smiled as the tears finally spilled from his eyes. ‘Thank you, officer. That means a lot.’

  Bryant turned to walk away as a feeling of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Nice guy,’ Dawson said, catching up with him.

  Bryant nodded.

  ‘What’s up, Bryant? You’ve gone a funny shade of sickly green.’

  Bryant leaned against the car and took a breath. ‘Put it together, Dawson and include Aisha Gupta in your thoughts,’ he said, as his colleague shook his head.

  ‘Look at our victims. I think what we’ve got here is a sudden rush of hate crimes.’

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Stacey sat back in her chair and admired her work. Aaron Holt was one angry young kid. He was eighteen years old and unable to find work because all the foreigners were taking the jobs.

  He had liked every offensive right wing, white supremacy group he could find and had started agreeing and commenting and sharing his own experience.

  It sickened Stacey that Aaron Holt had received seventy friend requests in under an hour. The pity was that a post spreading peace and love wouldn’t have attracted anywhere near as much attention.

  She’d added a few photo
s of pretty girls, some music tastes and a couple of games. Aaron Holt was beginning to look like a real person. And she didn’t like him one little bit.

  Stacey felt herself moving further and further away from her initial reason for investigating Justin’s suicide. When she’d seen Justin Reynolds lying in a pool of his own blood she had been transported back to her own teens, to the day she’d held a handful of pills in her left hand and a full glass of water in her right.

  It was the day after Janie Powers had kissed her. And she’d liked it.

  Twenty-four hours had mixed the fear, repulsion, confusion and shame into one boulder that bounced around in her head. She felt permanently changed by the experience, as though it was printed on her face or a gigantic speech bubble above her head.

  Her whole day at school had been spent looking around her, staring at anyone who laughed, convinced they were talking about her, and avoiding Janie Powers.

  She had returned home to an empty house that had been both a blessing and a curse. At least her mother hadn’t witnessed the panic attack that had seized her and brought her to tears.

  Her only thought had been to escape the feelings inside her. Their confinement in her own mind had expanded them to insurmountable proportions. All her life, she’d dealt with being different. Her skin had hardened against many of the insults over time. But this was yet another obstacle between her and anything resembling ‘normal’.

  As she opened the packet of tablets she’d realised there was only so much ‘different’ a girl could take.

  Luckily her mother had returned early from work and caught Stacey as the first tablets were hovering around her mouth.

  Her mother’s expression of fear and horror would stay in her mind for ever. The words had tumbled out of her, making no sense, but her mother had been able to clutch at the issue.

  ‘So you want to die because you might like girls?’

  Stacey remembered shaking her head and then saying the words that had almost broken her mother’s heart.

  ‘No, I want to die so I don’t have to tell you that I might like girls.’

  Stacey saw the hurt in her mother’s eyes before she was gathered into a hug and a barrage of reassurance. And that reassurance has been there for me ever since, Stacey thought with a smile. They had made a pact that day that no secrets would exist between them, and Stacey had kept her word. Now and again her mum would ask if there was any ‘special someone’ Stacey would like to bring around. Sadly there hadn’t been but she wouldn’t hesitate when there was.