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

by Angela Marsons

  Her gaze moved to Bart Preece, standing lazily beside the bike.

  Yes, very relieved indeed.

  FIFTY-NINE

  Stacey forced back the tears into her aching throat.

  It wasn’t the issue about her colour. She was black, proud and happy with herself. It was the fact that, in trying to keep her out of something, Dawson and Bryant had inadvertently started treating her differently, excluding her. That was something she’d suffered all her life.

  She jumped on the bus and took the last window seat available. The next stop was right outside a trading estate well known for low-level drug deals. She placed her arm over Justin’s laptop protruding from her bag and edged closer to the condensation-covered window.

  She looked away as a line of people streamed onto the bus. Eye contact could be viewed as an invitation, and she didn’t feel like company right now.

  Her eyes immediately began to fill again. She didn’t even acknowledge the form that slid into the seat next to her.

  She sniffed back the tears.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’ asked a gentle voice beside her.

  She turned and saw the pleasant smiling face of a man in his early thirties. He wore overalls and a beanie hat. He placed his jacket between them so their thighs didn’t touch.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said, thrilled that she had showed this stranger her watery, bloodshot eyes and snotty nose.

  ‘If it helps any, I’ve had a shit day too.’

  ‘It doesn’t, but thanks anyway,’ she said, hearing the tremor in her voice.

  Stacey felt frustrated by her own emotions. It wasn’t only her colleagues – she knew that. It was their insensitivity, in addition to the vile, disgusting articles she’d been posting all day. She tried to remember a day that she had felt less of a minority.

  ‘So, the boss says to me, “that new clutch you fitted is slipping”.’

  Stacey hadn’t realised the man beside her had continued speaking. And more importantly, he was explaining about his shit day at work. She ignored him and turned back to the window. Attractive or not, she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

  It didn’t help that her boss wasn’t around. Kim would have banged her colleagues’ heads together and they would all have got on with the case at hand. Her colour would not have been mentioned again, and it wouldn’t have needed to be.

  ‘So, I test the car and my boss is having a laugh. There’s nothing wrong with that clutch plate but he wants me to spend four hours stripping it back down.’

  ‘Mmm…’ Stacey said, to avoid being totally rude.

  ‘So, do you know what I did?’ he asked, nudging her conspiratorially.

  She shook her head and edged more against the window.

  ‘I lay underneath the car with a spanner. Every few minutes I made a noise or swore but I was checking the football scores.’

  ‘Clever,’ she said, without emotion.

  This good-looking stranger had picked the worst possible day to strike up a conversation with her.

  ‘Dickhead road-tested it and said it was— hey, mate watch out,’ he said as an older male walking down the aisle fell onto him. Consequently, he pushed Stacey even harder against the window.

  ‘God, I’m so sorry,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘Are you okay?’

  Stacey nodded and turned away, cutting off any contact between them. Right now she just wanted to be in her nice, small, familiar flat.

  Two stops later, the male got off the bus. Stacey sighed with relief. Maybe on another day she might have been interested in engaging in conversation, but only negative thoughts were running around in her mind.

  She allowed her generous bottom to readjust itself now it had possession of the double seat. Only two more stops and she’d be home herself. Into the shower, a frozen pizza for tea and some warm, comfy pyjamas. She’d probably share a few more poisonous posts, comment on another couple and then immerse herself in World of Warcraft for a couple of hours before bed.

  The tension began to ease from her body as she stared at the night ahead.

  The woman behind pulled on the metal topper of Stacey’s seat to raise herself to a standing position. Stacey followed suit. It was her stop too.

  She reached for her handbag on the seat and felt around, but her fingers knew just a second before her eyes registered the truth.

  Justin Reynolds’s laptop was gone.

  SIXTY

  ‘You sure this guy is gonna still be here?’ Bryant asked as they reached the Derbyshire Constabulary in Ripley.

  The force was responsible for an area of around 1,000 square miles, with a population of just under 1 million. It was split into two: the more rural north covering the Peak District, and the more urbanised east and south encompassing the city of Derby itself.

  The glass-fronted building was the Operational Support Division and housed the Road Policing Unit, Air Support and Armed Response, as well as Uniform Task Force.

  ‘He said he’d wait,’ Dawson said as Bryant pulled the car to a stop.

  ‘Yeah, and we said we’d be here by half past seven,’ Bryant observed.

  The first half of the fifty-six-mile drive had passed quickly using the M6 toll road but a build-up around Burton-on-Trent had added forty-five minutes to their journey.

  They sprinted across the car park. Bryant’s hand was on the door.

  ‘Hey, you after me?’ said a voice from behind.

  They both turned to see a man standing beside a Ford Sierra, smoking a cigarette.

  They walked towards him.

  ‘You had until I’d finished this one and then I was off,’ he said, throwing the cigarette to the floor, demonstrating just how close they’d been.

  ‘Thank you for waiting,’ Dawson offered, quickly.

  ‘You the guy I spoke to on the phone?’ he asked.

  Dawson nodded and held out his hand. The detective inspector they knew as Wilson returned the handshake.

  The man bore an uncanny resemblance to Boris Johnson, Bryant thought as the fringe of his unruly blonde hair fell over his eyes.

  ‘So, you got something going on down there in the Black Country you think might be linked to an incident up here?’ he asked.

  It was clear to Bryant this conversation was going to take place on the car park. They could hardly complain, given how long he had waited for them to get there.

  Bryant allowed Dawson to lead. He was the one who had made a possible connection and contacted the man running the case.

  Dawson nodded. ‘Yeah, we’ve got some incidents that are looking like a spurt of hate crimes. Potentially three in a short space of time.’

  Wilson shook his head as he lit another cigarette. Bryant remembered the days he’d been a thirty-a-day man. And after four years the occasional pang still took him by surprise.

  ‘Doesn’t match what we know about the attack on our girl,’ he said.

  ‘Can you tell us about Shay Chakma?’ Dawson asked, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets.

  ‘Pretty girl, from a family well respected in the Bangladeshi community. Parents came here when she was two years old. Two brothers, older, more traditional than Shay. She worked at a call centre for a power company. No bother at all, did her job and got on well with everyone.’

  Bryant wondered why Wilson had already decided this was no hate crime. It was beginning to sound like an unprovoked attack to him.

  ‘Except, her parents had just chosen a husband for her from another Bangladeshi family. Problem is, Shay’s been seeing one of her shift supervisors for the last seven months. Left work on Tuesday night a few minutes late and got two litres of sulphuric acid thrown all over her.’

  Bryant was still unconvinced that the incidents were not related.

  ‘You ever seen an acid attack?’ Wilson asked, suddenly.

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘Only photos,’ Bryant said.

  He shook his head. ‘Not the same. I saw Shay twenty minutes after it
happened.’ He stared into the space above Dawson’s head.

  ‘It was like someone had taken a blowtorch to her skin. It was like her face had melted down onto her neck, like an old candle. Witnesses said her face took just seconds to swell up like a balloon and then shrink again. The doctor explained that skin is sixty per cent water, and sulphuric acid doesn’t like water. As the acid interacts the temperature rises very quickly giving the victim a hot sensation, before agonising pain.’

  Bryant closed his eyes against the nausea whirling in his stomach.

  ‘Jesus,’ whispered Dawson.

  Wilson returned to the present. ‘Stuff got into her stomach and lungs as well.’

  ‘Poor kid,’ Dawson said.

  Bryant wondered if they were looking at the work of one man. Had their perpetrator widened his net? Travelled to another area to spread his attacks apart?

  ‘Still could be linked,’ he said.

  ‘We’re treating it as an honour attack, lads,’ Wilson insisted. ‘We got no other crimes like yours around here, and what with her secret boyfriend and all, we gotta treat it as we see it. We’re focussing this investigation on her family.’

  ‘But how did they feel about her having a boyfriend?’ Dawson asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem too upset by it but I’m not so sure about her older brothers.’

  Bryant couldn’t help what his gut was screaming at him even though Wilson’s suspicions were plausible.

  There was only one way to be certain.

  ‘Look, will you just let us speak to her – make sure?’ Bryant pleaded.

  Wilson shook his head. ‘Sorry mate, but no can do. May be a blessing in disguise, but Shay Chakma died half an hour ago.’

  SIXTY-ONE

  Travis was already beside the bed of Mr Dhinsa when she entered. Kim wondered if the man had any idea how hard her colleague had worked to save his life at the roadside.

  The nurse had not needed to offer the stern look accompanied by the finger to her lips for Kim to understand that the ICU ward was full of desperately sick people. It wasn’t the first time she had visited. And she was betting it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  There was an attitude, an ethos, in the ICU ward that reminded her of the library. Everything was performed calmly and as quietly as possible, the interminable silence broken only by the low hum of the life-saving equipment stationed next to most of the beds.

  ‘How is he?’ she whispered.

  The man’s young face was smooth in repose. His black hair stood up in tufts and part of his short beard had been shaved to allow for stitches and a dressing. Kim easily recalled the trauma sustained to the body of his companion. Mr Dhinsa had been the lucky one, although he might not realise that for some time yet.

  ‘Coming and going every few minutes,’ Travis answered. ‘So far, he’s asked me where he is and why. His lower legs are in a bit of a state,’ he said, looking down the bed to the plaster casts that stretched from the toes up to the knees of both legs. ‘Doctor says he’s off the critical list now they’ve ruled out permanent spinal injury. They’re dosing him with steroids.’

  Kim had a horrible thought as Mr Dhinsa opened his eyes and looked straight at Travis.

  ‘Where’s Trisha?’

  And there it was. He had been so badly out of it he had no idea.

  ‘Don’t think about that right now, Mr Dhinsa. Just concentrate on getting—’

  Travis stopped speaking as Mr Dhinsa closed his eyes once more.

  Kim stepped around to the other side of the bed and sat down on the plastic chair. It had the potential to be a very long night.

  Mr Dhinsa opened his eyes again.

  ‘Did you save me?’ he asked.

  Travis nodded.

  The eyes closed.

  ‘Are you going to try and ask him anything?’ Kim asked. The last they’d heard, his partner had been pushed in front of that delivery truck and the only person seen around was him.

  ‘Yeah if he stays with me long enough. It’s a bit like trying to have a conversation with you.’

  Kim was surprised to see that the comment hadn’t been accompanied by the usual hard line to his lips. Surely he hadn’t been trying to have a chuckle with her?

  Eyes open.

  ‘Mr Dhinsa, was Trisha pushed?’ Travis asked, getting his own question in first.

  ‘Blue van,’ he answered.

  ‘He’s too confused,’ Travis said, looking her way. ‘The van was white.’

  Kim shook her head. ‘He’s just groggy and fighting the drugs. Try him again.’

  Eyes open.

  ‘Trish got in the way,’ he said, as his eyes rolled. And then rolled back again.

  ‘He wants to tell us, Travis,’ Kim realised. His short answers were revealing in sequence as much as he could manage at a time.

  He was trying to tell them exactly what happened.

  The shadow of a nurse loomed behind them. ‘I think that’s enough for now,’ she said, quietly.

  ‘Please, just another minute or two,’ Kim said. She didn’t want this man to have expended all this energy for nothing.

  ‘Please…’ Travis added.

  ‘Two minutes,’ she agreed, glancing at his vital signs on the machine.

  ‘Men tried to take…’ Mr Dhinsa said.

  Eyes closed.

  Kim’s gaze met with Travis’s across the bed. They were running out of time. They had to help him put this together.

  Kim turned to Mr Dhinsa and hoped he could hear her before they lost him to sleep altogether.

  ‘Mr Dhinsa, are you saying there were men in a blue van who tried to take your girlfriend?’ Kim asked, corralling his previous statements.

  He nodded and then shook his head as his eyes opened once again.

  ‘No, Trisha stopped… they were trying to take me.’

  SIXTY-TWO

  Stacey paced her small lounge once more. Since returning home she had cooked, thrown food away, tried to vacuum, tried to watch television, walk, stand and sit.

  ‘Damn it,’ she shouted, kicking at a dining chair. The screech of metal on the laminate flooring was satisfying.

  She collapsed onto the sofa and buried her head in her hands. What the hell had she been thinking?

  Part of her wanted to ring the boss and offload, confess to all the stupid things she’d done, take the bollocking and then move on.

  Yeah, that might help her right now. She’d feel better once she’d passed all responsibility up the chain, but it wouldn’t help her in the long-term. Not only would she be demonstrating that she couldn’t use her own initiative effectively but that she couldn’t sort the worms once she’d opened the bloody can.

  ‘Damn it,’ she said, again. She’d involved herself in a case that hadn’t needed solving. She’d invaded the personal space of a grieving mother, taken the suicide victim’s property, not logged it in officially, and now it had been stolen.

  Stacey shook her head. At this rate they were already preparing her cell in Guantanamo.

  The tempting factor in making the call was the knowledge that, after a fit of rage, her boss would help her to sort this whole mess out. She’d witnessed it with Dawson a hundred times. But Kim had never had to do it with her. Dawson was the one who fucked up. They all expected it. Hell, even Dawson expected it. But not her. Stacey was the good girl, teacher’s pet, as Dawson sometimes called her. And she was. She enjoyed being good old reliable Stacey. She prided herself on being no bother to anyone.

  But she trusted her boss, implicitly. She would know what to do.

  Stacey picked up her phone and swiped. She scrolled down to the contact called ‘boss’. Her thumb hovered above the handset icon. She pictured the disappointment on the boss’s face as she recited the litany of mistakes.

  Stacey threw the phone on the sofa. No. Whatever she’d got herself into, she would have to resolve it on her own.

  SIXTY-THREE

  ‘So, what the hell is he talking about?’ Kim
asked as they left the ward.

  Travis shook his head. ‘Your guess is probably as good as mine,’ he said, rubbing his forehead. He turned left, and she turned right. She enjoyed the irony of the moment.

  ‘We’ll pick it up in the morning,’ he said, and he was right. It was almost ten and it looked like Barney was going to be having a sleepover with Charlie from two doors down.

  ‘Okay, see you in the morning,’ Kim said, offering a half wave as she turned away.

  She made a detour to the cafeteria to grab a strong, long coffee, and spotted a familiar ombre head bent down studiously.

  Kim grabbed a coffee from the vending machine and stood opposite Doctor A.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ Kim asked, tapping the wooden chair.

  ‘Of course not,’ Doctor A said, smiling. ‘What are you doing here at this time?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Kim said, before nodding towards her phone. ‘I don’t want to disturb your work.’

  Doctor A turned the phone towards her. ‘Pet Rescue game, my saviour.’

  ‘Really?’ Kim asked. It wasn’t what she’d imagined the scientist doing when she wasn’t working.

  ‘Well, if you want the truth, I prefer to read about quantum physics and the theory of the universe in my spare time but just now and again the pandas are calling me.’

  ‘I bet you were a fun kid,’ Kim said.

  ‘I absolutely was,’ Doctor A said, smiling. ‘I was what you would call a tommyboy. I liked jumping, fighting and playing with mud. My father was in the army, leaving me, my mother and my brother.’

  ‘Did you fight?’

  Dr A’s expression said, of course.

  ‘Did you win?’

  Her expression remained the same.

  ‘You really okay?’ Kim asked. Despite the woman’s animation, the smile remained below her nose. She looked tired, drained.

  ‘My glass is always half full, Inspector. But not right now. Marina is on her way with the last box.’ She shook her head. ‘We will not have all the bones.’

  Kim understood. There was a sadness that the bodies would remain incomplete.