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

by Angela Marsons

  ‘Shit,’ Kim said, taking a deep breath. ‘That stays between us, yeah?’

  ‘Obviously,’ he said.

  She turned to walk away but Bryant had stayed where he was.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I should have seen it, guv. Thinking back, I remember her closing her computer when we walked in. The sombreness of her mood was another clue but I thought it was this case. I should have—’

  ‘Bryant, there’s no point to this, especially now,’ she said. She would have liked to offer him reassurance that it was not his fault, but she couldn’t. Not right now.

  ‘Jump on the CCTV with Kev,’ she instructed. ‘I want to know if there was a blue transit van anywhere near our station.’

  ‘Got one,’ Penn called. ‘Got a link…’ He paused. ‘Shit, I’ve actually got two. Fiona Cowley was the marketing manager at the Brookmyre Manor House. The Preece family tried to resurrect it about five years ago but it failed. And Jeff Cowley served at the army base twenty-three years ago.’

  ‘I’ve got the last sighting of Fiona’s car, here,’ Gibbs called out. ‘Caught by the Esso services in Wordsley.’

  Kim took a look at the car disappearing around a corner.

  ‘Shit, guv, I’ve got one,’ Dawson shouted.

  Kim frowned. ‘Hold that a minute,’ she said to Gibbs, and turned to Dawson.

  ‘Kev, play me your footage.’

  Passing the Esso station was a blue transit van.

  ‘Pause,’ she said.

  ‘Gibbs,’ she said, calling him over.

  He looked at the screen.

  ‘Same one you got following Fiona Cowley’s car?’

  ‘Looks like the same age and model but without registration numbers…’

  ‘Have you timed that one yet?’

  Dawson shook his head.

  ‘Do it now,’ she said.

  ‘Stone,’ Travis said, phone in hand.

  She turned.

  ‘Checked your emails?’

  ‘Not in the last twenty seconds,’ she said, sarcastically. She’d developed whiplash from going desk to desk.

  ‘The fibre found with the victims. It’s a match for the bathroom carpet,’ he said.

  She nodded and frowned. ‘Of course it is. We saw that carpet ourselves.’

  It was the result they’d expected.

  He shook his head. ‘Not from the Cowley’s. It matches a fibre in the gum on my shoe. The fibre in the grave came from a Preece.’

  NINETY-ONE

  ‘We can’t rule out that the two families are linked somehow. There’s a history there and they must have been in and out of each other’s houses,’ Kim said. ‘Fibres get transferred.’

  She turned away, trying to process all the information as Dawson put up his hand.

  ‘Seventeen minutes, boss,’ he called out. ‘Van was out of sight, and it went back the way it came.’

  Everyone stopped working, and turned. They all knew.

  That was the vehicle that had taken Stacey.

  The sound of Kim’s phone ringing shattered the sudden silence.

  ‘Doctor A?’ she answered, as people turned quietly back to their tasks.

  ‘I have heard about your Stacey. I will not keeping you long,’ she said, quickly. ‘But those marks, the nicks you called them, on the legs of victim number three…’

  ‘You know what they are?’ Kim asked, standing up.

  ‘Yes, Inspector. They are teeth marks. Dog teeth marks, and I counted one hundred and ten.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Kim said, closing her eyes for one second. The poor soul had been mauled to death by a pack of dogs.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor A,’ she said.

  ‘Inspector… good luck,’ said the scientist.

  Kim thanked her again and ended the call.

  There were few ways to die that could be more horrific than having the flesh ripped from your bones by a pack of hungry animals.

  She could not consider such a horrific fate for her colleague. She would not.

  Everything they had learned about this case meant nothing to her right now. The only thing that mattered was finding Stacey and getting her back. Alive and unharmed.

  ‘Okay, everybody on CCTV. We want a registration number for that van, and we need to know where it went.’

  NINETY-TWO

  Bryant watched her move around the room, whirling from desk to desk, trying to pick out pieces of the puzzle that would take her where she wanted to go. Solving any case had been trumped by the need to find Stacey.

  He was sure everyone in the room could see the growing tension in Kim. The fact that her hands were permanently clenched and her jaw was set rigidly. The occasional neck roll was a poor attempt to relieve the tension building in her shoulders.

  What he did question was whether the others could see everything else that was going on.

  Did they see the guilt she was feeling every time she scratched her upper lip? Did they see the responsibility she was feeling every time she cupped her chin in her palm? Or the sheer determination that coursed through her every time she thrust her fists into her front pockets? He knew the signs, because he was feeling it too.

  But unlike him, she had learned responsibility at the age of six years old when she had felt accountable for trying to protect her weaker twin from their schizophrenic mother. And guilt when she had been unable to.

  Right now, Kim stood in front of the three wipe boards, studying them for a clue, her arms folded across her chest.

  She glanced towards the window and bit her top lip. It had been dark for more than an hour, and he could sense the panic clinging to her body.

  But what the others wouldn’t know was the cause and effect of her feelings of guilt and responsibility. She closed down and focussed. She turned every emotion in on herself and hung on to the steely determination that he had seen before. Except that rigid resolve also eroded her common sense and objective decisions. She would take any measures to get Stacey back. Whatever the risk to herself.

  He stood and moved towards her.

  ‘You all right, guv?’ he asked.

  The mask descended, hiding everything he’d already seen.

  Her voice was measured and calm and emotionless.

  ‘Of course, I’m all right, Bryant,’ she said, offering him a look, before moving away and continuing to study the boards.

  And in doing so, she confirmed he was right.

  NINETY-THREE

  Kim moved away from Bryant’s prying eyes. At times like this it did her no good to know that he could read most of her thoughts, never mind her feelings. They were no good to her now. If she submitted to them she would find herself tearing out of the building and running the streets, shouting Stacey’s name, convinced that she could find her better than anyone else.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, getting everyone’s attention. ‘We have two prime locations. Thoughts?’

  ‘Looking at this manor house, it’s huge, derelict, spooky and a great location…’ Lynda’s words trailed away when she saw the look on Kim’s face.

  ‘I mean, it’s ideal for what we think they have in mind. Nearest property is a mile away. There are a few barns out back and…’

  ‘Gotta disagree,’ Gibbs said. All eyes turned to him.

  ‘Before the Second World War, Denton Army base was developed by the Ministry of Defence as an ammunition dump. Basically, a storage facility for live ammo and explosives.’

  He tapped a few keys and an aerial view showed on his screen.

  ‘It has a buffer zone, a cleared area of two miles in the event of an explosion. All that land now belongs to the Preece family.’

  ‘Why haven’t they sold it on like the rest?’ Travis asked.

  ‘Developers prefer land where they have no chance of discovering an undetonated bomb,’ Gibbs answered with a shrug.

  Kim stood behind him as others wheeled in their direction.

  He used his pen to touch the screen.

  ‘There’s a metal fe
nce around the whole site.’

  ‘What are they?’ Kim asked, pointing to a row of humps on the east side.

  ‘Igloos, sorry, bunkers for storing ammo.’ He moved his pen along. ‘I think those are pits to divert the force of the blast. And that over there,’ he said, pointing to the top left of the screen, ‘will be the destruction area: the demolition range used for burning or detonating defective, surplus or obsolete explosives.’

  ‘And this?’ she asked, pointing to a large structure at the centre of the site.

  ‘Transit building for transferring ammo. There’ll be a workshop, ammo repair space and facilities for the troops,’ he said, knowledgeably.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Visited the derelict Bandneath Munitions Depot in Scotland a few years ago. Had its own railway distributing munitions to more than thirty warehouses. Denton is much smaller but with a similar layout.’

  She stood silently for a moment.

  This had to be the right call.

  Bryant caught her eye. ‘Don’t they do that paintballing shit at these disused army places?’

  Never did he let her down. He was sharing his thoughts without trying to make the decision for her. But now there was a picture in her mind of individuals running around with guns, hiding behind structures, ducking, diving, laughing.

  ‘Denton it is,’ she said decisively.

  And silently prayed she was right.

  NINETY-FOUR

  ‘Just tell me what you mean,’ Stacey said for the hundredth time.

  She had asked him what was going on, and he had told her she really didn’t want to know. After that Flint had fallen silent but she could hear his breathing somewhere to her left.

  If only he would speak to her they could find some way out of this, despite their differences. Were his racist views more important than his life?

  ‘Look, if we work together, surely we can—’

  ‘Don’t you get it, you stupid bitch? It’s over for both of us.’

  Stacey opened her mouth to argue when the door swung open. His words had drowned out the sound of the key.

  Damn it, they could have had a plan ready to execute next time the door was opened.

  A bright light shone into her eyes and then moved left and right. She dropped her lids in defence but a thousand white stars danced in front of her eyes. She heard a groan as Gary Flint was hauled to his feet and taken from the room.

  Stacey felt the tears sting her eyes. She suddenly thought about her mother’s concern when she’d said she wanted to be a police officer. Horrific images and untold worry must have plagued her mother while constantly praying that she would rethink her decision. Stacey wondered if this was an image that had crossed her mind. A tear spilled over and rolled over her cheek.

  Yes, she was a grown woman in her twenties, and yes, she was a police officer and a detective, but right now she just wanted to feel the warm embrace of her mother. She fought back the rush of emotion that prompted the tears to form. She swallowed them down.

  Suddenly her mother’s voice sounded in her head. And it wasn’t pleased. Stacey had never been allowed to indulge in self-pity. Her mother had offered comfort when the situation warranted it, but had been equally fond of a stern rebuke too.

  Snap out of it, Stacey, she would have said, with impatience on her face.

  She had to stop thinking like a victim. She had to think like a grown-up. A police officer.

  What could she do? What did she always do?

  She looked for information. She searched for data. She explored for clues.

  She moved her left buttock forward and then her right. The darkness had not lifted and still cloaked itself around her but perhaps she could find clues. How big was the room? Was there any furniture? Where was the door?

  Each time she moved she swallowed down the fear. Sitting in the dense blackness was terrifying enough but moving around with no clue of potential hazards or dangers intensified her fear.

  After each few shuffles of her bottom she paused and lowered her bound hands behind her. All she felt was the dusty, concrete floor.

  She had no clue of the direction of travel. She could have been moving away from the door. She paused and began to inch backwards. She had been against a wall. Her mind began to work. If she edged around the perimeter, she could estimate the size of the room based on distance from corner to corner and, wherever she was, she would eventually reach a door. Inching around in the centre of the space would simply disorient her more.

  Her back hit the wall and she suspected she was where she had started. She contemplated trying to stand but she recalled the ease with which she had fallen into unconsciousness earlier. She couldn’t risk it again. She had work to do.

  She began to shuffle sideways, which was much harder than moving forwards or backwards.

  She hit the first corner after what must have been only a couple of feet.

  She turned and began to head along the next wall.

  Her shirt had ridden up her back and a cry escaped her lips as her skin scraped along a metal grid. A trail of blood began to ooze towards her buttocks. She felt along the wall until her fingers met with some kind of vent.

  She continued her journey along the wall estimating she’d travelled approximately eight or nine feet.

  She cried out as her foot met with something solid yet yielding at the same time, like a firm cushion.

  She paused, before jabbing her foot at it once more.

  It groaned.

  Stacey felt her mouth run dry before she whispered into the darkness: ‘Who the hell are you?’

  NINETY-FIVE

  The Denton facility was located three miles east of Wolverley, a village two miles north of Kidderminster.

  She silently urged Bryant to drive faster. She had allowed him the keys only because her hands were busy with her phone.

  Travis and some of his team had headed to the manor house in Bromsgrove to make sure there was nothing happening there. Given the outbuildings, and derelict nature of the building, she could not rule it out as a potential site for the despicable event, although her gut was still headed to Denton.

  At the last minute she had grabbed Gibbs, given his knowledge and understanding of the layout of the facility. Due to the possibility that firearms were involved, armed response units from West Mids and West Mercia were en route to both locations.

  Most armed response vehicles were unmarked converted Audi Estates with a top speed of 150 mph. The units carried taser guns, pistols, semi-automatic carbines and rifles.

  She had managed to persuade Woody not to send in every available officer. Such commotion would drive this sickening event underground, and Stacey could be anywhere, hurt or worse.

  Her main concern was the safety of her colleague but there was another issue; the people. The participants involved in this hunt were loathsome, vile, repulsive individuals capable of treating fellow human beings in a sickening way.

  They now suspected that all people present had performed some kind of heinous act to gain entry. And damn it, she wanted them all.

  ‘Any joy, Kev?’ she asked but his silence said it all.

  ‘Still no answer from the Cowley or Preece families,’ he said. He’d been alternating between all the numbers non-stop since they’d got in the car. Squad cars were parked at both locations for when any family member arrived home.

  ‘Half a mile out, guv,’ Bryant said, turning towards her.

  She nodded and took a breath.

  ‘Okay, Bryant, time to stop the car.’

  NINETY-SIX

  Gary Flint stumbled over the door frame as he was pushed forward into the cold night air. A strong hand gripped each of his upper arms like a vice.

  Floda walked ahead, while two heavies dressed in balaclavas aided his own forward movement.

  ‘Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear,’ he cried out as he tried to keep pace with his captor.

  A small hope burned inside him. Perhaps F
loda had decided to spare him, allow him to join the hunt. He’d paid his dues. He’d earned his entry. Although he hadn’t killed anyone, he’d waited outside the police station and sent a photo of the police officer who was asking questions. The one who had been snatched for the main event. Surely that earned him the right to hunt.

  The hood was suddenly ripped from his head.

  He was standing beside a metal enclosure, approximately thirty feet square. Inside the metal fencing was a pack of dogs, snarling and eyeing him with interest.

  He knew that he was looking at German shepherds, used by the police and military for their trainability. He’d seen them track until their pads bled. Normally good-natured, he knew any dog could be bred to hunt.

  He also knew that Floda was not letting him go.

  ‘No…’ he said, as his mouth began to dry.

  ‘They’re hungry,’ said Floda. ‘Haven’t been fed for days.’

  Flint started to shake his head in denial.

  ‘No, please… don’t…’

  He knew some packs were starved and then thrown live animals to train them. But he wasn’t an animal. He was a person.

  ‘I g… gave you the prey. I gave you the black c… copper,’ he stuttered.

  Floda grabbed Gary’s arm and pulled up his sleeve. A knife glinted as it tore a slit down his forearm.

  Flint cried out and tried to back away, but Floda was holding him tight. The throbbing of the wound was nothing compared to what he would suffer if he didn’t get away.

  ‘Please, I’m begging you,’ he whispered. ‘I hate these people as much as you do…’

  ‘In you go,’ Floda said, opening the metal gate.

  Flint tried to plant his feet into the ground.

  Floda looked to the figures either side of him.

  ‘Don’t do this… I’ve been loyal. I can…’

  He stopped speaking as he felt himself being pushed forward. He tried to squirm and turn but the hands held him firm and then shoved him into the enclosure.

  The gate closed behind him but he threw himself against it, hoping it would relent.