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

by Angela Marsons

  Looking back now, it was hard for her to believe that she had considered ending her own life because of her burgeoning sexuality, but at the time it had been all-encompassing and what she had sought was an escape.

  And that was what she had recognised in Justin’s letter. She had wanted to understand him, to reassure his family that it wasn’t their fault.

  But now, Stacey knew that the tide had turned. She had begun by leading this investigation and, with apprehension, she realised that it was now leading her.

  She had expected to uncover an angst-ridden teenager, weighed down by depression, fear or emotional baggage. But as she looked once more at the profile of Justin Reynolds, she realised she had found something a whole lot darker.

  FIFTY-SIX

  ‘How much longer are we going to have to wait for this bloody brief?’ Kim asked, pacing around Travis’s small office.

  ‘It’s been fifteen minutes, Stone,’ Travis said, closing his folder and reaching for his phone.

  She sighed heavily. It felt much longer since they had tried to question Mr Cowley, who had demanded a solicitor immediately.

  She sat down opposite Travis.

  ‘What’s his daughter up to?’ Kim asked, thinking aloud. Although they had Mr Cowley in custody, it was Fiona Cowley that held the key to this case. She knew something about these bodies in the ground, and Kim wanted to know what it was.

  ‘Do you think we should haul her in as well?’ Travis asked.

  Kim was tempted to glance behind her. He couldn’t possibly be asking her opinion. The silence and his impatient expression told her that he was.

  Kim shook her head. ‘Let’s see what we get out of her dad first. It might be a good thing to threaten him with though.’

  Travis nodded his agreement. ‘Yeah, I was thinking of dropping that into the—’

  ‘Boss, do you want to take a look at this?’ asked Penn from the doorway.

  They followed him to the wipe board on the side wall. It looked similar to her own in the garage. Only, his game of Hangman had small underscores in between the letters they already knew.

  ‘So, based on the lettering of each line and the different font sizes I think we can estimate how many of these spaces are characters or spaces but…’ His words trailed away as though his initial excitement had been extinguished by the hopelessness of the task, now that he looked at it in the cold light of day.

  ‘Keep going,’ Kim said, walking towards the board. She was impressed with his initiative. ‘Tell me what you think,’ she said.

  ‘I think it’s an invitation,’ he said.

  Kim looked at Travis, and they both approached the wipe board.

  ‘Go on,’ Kim said, with interest.

  ‘I think it’s definitely an invitation of some kind,’ he said, springing back into life. His thoughts echoed her own.

  ‘I think the first line is the announcement of what it is, like a wedding, a funeral. Something like that,’ he said.

  ‘Make a note to the side in red,’ Kim suggested.

  He did so.

  ‘Second line down is the date,’ he said, noting that to the side.

  ‘I think the third line down is an instruction.’

  ‘Maybe bring something?’ she offered.

  ‘If it is some kind of invitation, there is one vital piece of information missing,’ she said.

  The constable’s eyes ran over the board once more.

  ‘Location,’ he cried out.

  ‘I’m thinking so,’ she said, as he wrote the word at the end of the last line.

  Travis stepped forward as Kim was about to open her mouth.

  ‘Good work,’ he said, nodding his head appreciatively. ‘Bloody good work, Penn.’

  ‘Sir?’ said a constable from the doorway. ‘The brief for Mr Cowley has just arrived.’

  He nodded his thanks and then turned to her. ‘I’m leading this one, Stone,’ he said.

  ‘Why? You know I was getting to him back at the house?’ she asked as they headed from the squad room.

  ‘Precisely,’ Travis continued. ‘His brief is here now. We need a slightly different approach.’

  There was a part of her that agreed with him.

  ‘Less goading,’ he said, heading out of the office. Kim cursed silently; he just had to finish with that.

  She followed him downstairs to the interview rooms, and entered room one.

  All conversation stopped as they stepped in.

  The brief was in his late fifties and a few stone overweight. His hair was totally white and plentiful. His chubby face was clean-shaven and his clothes were top quality.

  He stood and offered his hand.

  ‘Leonard Cameron, solicitor to the Cowley family,’ he offered, pleasantly.

  Travis shook the hand while Kim sat. She hated happy briefs. It meant they weren’t worried. And she wanted this brief to be worried. Even Jeff Cowley was looking more relaxed than he had at the house.

  She felt her insides begin to turn as she realised they were not going to get anything from him, no matter who was asking the questions.

  Travis switched on the tape and listed the date, time and persons present. Jeff Cowley had not looked at her once.

  ‘So, Mr Cowley, I’d like to begin by talking about your son’s accident. You maintain that it was an accident?’ he asked, pleasantly.

  Mr Cowley looked to his brief, who nodded.

  ‘Yes, my son shot himself accidentally.’

  ‘And you saw this?’

  He nodded.

  Travis pointed to the tape recorder. ‘Please speak your response, Mr Cowley,’ he said.

  The man leaned towards it. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘And you saw him actually contort himself into such a position that he could shoot himself in the back of the neck?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Would you be able to demonstrate exactly how that was?’

  ‘Umm… well… not… it happened so fast that…’

  ‘Could you explain how, once he got himself into that unbelievable position, he could shoot himself with a gun that we haven’t yet found?’

  ‘It was right there,’ he said.

  ‘But it wasn’t the gun, was it, Mr Cowley?’

  He shrugged.

  Travis looked to the recorder.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know how the bullet in your son’s neck came from a completely different gun to the one you saw him messing with?’

  ‘Your results must be wrong,’ he said.

  So, Kim thought, his brief had told him to stick to his story. Every question they asked would be met with the same response.

  ‘And how do you explain the bullet in your son matching the one found in a mass grave containing one of your ex-employees?’ Travis asked.

  ‘It’s a lot of land,’ he answered.

  ‘So, persons unknown came onto your land, dug a hole, buried three bodies, left again and you know absolutely nothing about it?’ Travis asked.

  ‘That’s correct,’ he answered.

  Kim was growing weary of these non-answers.

  ‘And what can you tell us about the accident Jacob James had on your property?’ Travis continued.

  ‘I don’t remember it very well. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘It was caused by defective ladders, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I think so,’ he answered.

  The brief smiled in her direction. He clearly thought the interview was going well.

  She didn’t smile back.

  ‘And that accident left Jacob James unable to work, unable to support his family?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

  The man was unflappable. Gone was the cowering, terrified man they’d seen at the house. Mr Cowley now bordered on smug.

  ‘Did you see Jacob James again?’ Travis asked.

  ‘Not that I recall.’

  Kim realised they had lost the element of surprise. He knew every question
they were going to ask and had a non-committal response ready and waiting for every single one of them. None of the questions were eliciting an emotional response that they could read and capitalise on.

  ‘So, you weren’t the Cowley that offered Jacob James a paltry amount of money to drop the lawsuit?’

  He shook his head and almost smiled.

  Kim nudged Travis beneath the table. They needed to see his response to a question he wasn’t expecting.

  ‘Mr Cowley, I’d like to ask just one more question if I may. It’s about your daughter, Fiona.’

  For the first time, Cowley looked her way.

  ‘Can you explain why she would have visited the Preece residence immediately following your arrest?’

  The colour drained from his face, taking all remains of smugness with it.

  ‘No comment,’ he answered with a tremor in his voice.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  It was late afternoon when they headed back into the squad room. Bryant pretended not to see Stacey push down the lid of the laptop. If she was doing some personal stuff at the end of the day, that was her business.

  ‘Bad one, guys?’ she asked as Dawson slumped down in his chair, and loosened his tie.

  ‘Yeah, Stace,’ Bryant answered.

  Dawson’s fatigue travelled across the room and found him.

  He glanced at his colleague, who looked away.

  ‘What?’ Stacey asked. ‘Did I do something?’

  Bryant thought it was a strange question.

  ‘It’s hate crimes, Stace,’ Bryant said as Dawson kicked at something under the table.

  He saw the emotion flash in her eyes.

  ‘And?’ she asked. He could hear the controlled rage in that one word.

  ‘It’s just…’

  ‘Just what, Bryant? Why am I suddenly being treated differently? What the hell are you two trying to protect me from?’

  Bryant knew she was right, and yet something inside him didn’t want her anywhere near this case.

  ‘Do you try and shield me every time a woman is murdered ‒ cos believe it or not, I’m one of them too. Do I try and protect you when a Caucasian male is killed or assaulted?’

  Bryant shook his head. The controlled rage in her voice was no longer controlled.

  ‘Do you think I’ve not come across hate crimes before, guys?’ she asked. ‘I wasn’t born into this team. I experienced a whole twenty years before I met you. Trust me, I’ve seen it out there.’

  ‘It’s just that we find it so abhorrent…’

  ‘Don’t find it abhorrent because it’s a black guy or a gay guy or a Polish immigrant. Be pissed off because someone lost their life or got hurt,’ she said.

  ‘But to be targeted because of—’

  ‘Bryant, don’t talk to me about that. I was the kid dragged into the stationery room when I was five by four kids with a scourer. Surprisingly, it didn’t come off,’ she said, wiping at the skin on her forearm.

  ‘Stace, I’m—’

  ‘No, Bryant. You want to know something about hate crimes? Well, listen to this. Say Dawson’s house gets done-over tonight and all his stuff is taken. He may never get his stuff back but he can safeguard against it happening again. He can fit cameras, lights, alarms. Hell, he can even pay a guy to sit on his front lawn. He can prevent his stuff being taken again, but guess what, I’ll still be black in the morning and there’s no way I can safeguard against that.’

  There was so much Bryant wanted to say but everything in his mouth sounded trite.

  ‘Every day I have to wonder if I’m going to be the victim of a “knockout game” because of my colour.’

  Bryant knew of these random, vicious, unprovoked attacks that were plastered all over the Internet. It was a relatively new fad that had followed ‘happy slapping’. The aim was to knock out an unsuspecting victim with a single sucker punch. He’d lost count of the deaths that had resulted from the stupid phase, and some offences had been classified as hate crimes.

  ‘And do you realise that most hate crimes are committed by ordinary members of the public? Oh yeah, the hate groups recruit, just like cults, by lying and brainwashing, and turning folks into vicious little hatemongers ‒ but still the majority of attacks come from people acting alone. What did a young Asian girl in Derby do to deserve being doused in acid last week? But it’s not just against blacks or Asians. It’s goths, moshers ‒ anyone who is different either by choice or design.’

  Stacey stopped talking and shook her head as she began to gather up her things.

  ‘And yet, guys, none of this hurts me,’ she said, pushing back her chair. ‘It angers, frustrates, enrages me but it doesn’t hurt me.’ She stood. ‘What does hurt me is that, on a case where I could offer more than data analysis, you guys chose to freeze me out.’

  Bryant shook his head as Stacey passed by his desk.

  ‘That went well,’ he observed once his colleague had left the room. ‘And the worst thing is she’s absolutely right,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We could really use her help on this about now.’

  He glanced at Dawson, who was busy tapping away on his keyboard. Bryant was eager for this day to end. He wanted to make a short detour on the way home to check that the Kowalski family was safely back at their address, following the issue of the restraining order preventing Flint from going anywhere near the property.

  ‘So, Dawson, tomorrow, we get Stacey involved, right?’ he said, reaching for his coat.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, boss,’ Dawson said, absently, while reading the screen.

  ‘What is it, Kev?’

  ‘Something Stacey said.’ He looked over the top of his computer screen. ‘I think you’d better come and have a look at this.’

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  ‘I swear to God, Travis, if he says “no comment” one more time I’m gonna…’

  ‘Hold your tongue and stay calm,’ he said.

  ‘But, we’re getting nothing from him.’

  ‘Yeah, since you mentioned his daughter,’ Travis snarled.

  ‘But it was the only reaction we got.’

  Travis shook his head. ‘And then the next twenty questions you asked about his daughter rattled him even more, and then the brief shut you down. At least while he was answering there was the opportunity he’d trip himself up, but we’re now down to two-word answers and it’s the same two words.’

  She knew he had a point.

  ‘Jesus, why do I feel like this case is going on without us?’ she asked, leaning against the same wall as Travis.

  They were only waiting for Cowley’s refreshment break to end before having another crack at him.

  ‘I can’t go back in,’ Kim said, honestly. ‘Take one of the others in, or I’m going to do something I’ll regret.’

  His head turned sharply.

  She shook her head. That hadn’t been a dig.

  ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ he said.

  ‘Can you get a lift home?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course; I never asked you to be my chauffeur.’

  Kim ached to respond to his snarkiness, but a picture of Woody came into her mind.

  ‘I’ll pick you up in the morning,’ she said, walking away.

  She headed out of the building right into the cold air and a man dressed from head to toe in leather.

  ‘Inspector, just the person,’ said Bart Preece, removing his helmet.

  She looked beyond him to the Ecosse parked beside her Golf.

  What the hell was one of the Preece boys doing here?

  ‘Surely you’re off-duty now,’ he said with a lopsided grin.

  ‘You’re joking?’ she asked, walking towards the bike.

  He shrugged as he placed the helmet under his arm and reached for the keys. ‘You seemed to appreciate it yesterday. Thought you might like to take it for a spin.’

  Kim laughed. ‘Yeah and you might never see it again.’

  She appraised it beneath the street light in its full titanium g
lory. Oh, how she would love to place her behind on that gel seat and feel the MotoGP spec Öhlins suspension.

  He laughed with her. ‘Inspector, you are an officer of the law. I trust you to bring it back.’

  She leaned down to get a closer look at the front wheel.

  ‘A brake pad for each piston?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Handles like a dream,’ he said, touching the handlebar.

  She walked around it, appreciating the beauty.

  ‘Multi adjustable riding position,’ he said, tipping his head. ‘Best experience you can have on two wheels.’

  Kim nodded. She didn’t doubt it.

  ‘You got one?’ he asked.

  ‘An Ecosse?’ she asked with her eyes wide open.

  He laughed out loud. ‘A motorbike.’

  ‘Ninja,’ she said, stroking the seat.

  ‘Nice,’ he said, nodding appreciatively.

  She looked for signs of condescension and found none. Yes, the Ninja was a nice bike but the difference between the two was like a Timex and a Rolex. They were both watches and they both told the time. And there the similarity ended.

  ‘Okay, just start her up and let me hear…’

  Her words trailed away as the doors to the station opened behind her.

  Travis appeared with a constable.

  He stopped dead as he took in the scene before him.

  ‘I’m heading to Russells Hall,’ he said, urgently. ‘Our accident survivor is conscious.’ He looked to Bart and then back to her. ‘He’s asked to see me. Feel free to join us when you’re done.’

  He sprinted towards a squad car.

  She looked to the bike and groaned. Not that she would have taken it for a ride but she wasn’t quite done looking at it yet.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got to…’

  ‘Of course,’ Bart said, reaching for his helmet.

  She began to walk away and then turned. ‘But thank you. It was a lovely thought.’

  He nodded and clicked down his visor.

  As Kim got into the Golf and started the engine she took one more look at the bike, strangely relieved that they had been interrupted.