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

by Angela Marsons

But she’d rather be cold than dead, she thought, removing her skirt and tights together.

  ‘Ball them up,’ Bryant said. ‘They’ll travel further.’

  She leaned down, gathered the clothing into a pile and wound it all up with her tights.

  ‘Ready,’ she said.

  ‘Hurry up, they’re getting closer,’ Bryant hissed.

  She bit into the ball of clothes and then felt along Bryant’s arm to where his hands were clamped together.

  She raised her right leg and placed her bare foot into his palms.

  ‘Grunt when you’re ready,’ he said.

  She used her free hands to help scale the mossy wall either side as he lifted. She grunted and Bryant lifted her up. She loosed her grip on the bank and grabbed for the ball of clothing from her mouth.

  ‘Aaarrgghhh…’ she cried as she began to fall to the side.

  Bryant immediately lowered his hands to prevent her from toppling completely.

  The ball of fabric was still in her mouth.

  ‘Shit,’ Bryant said. ‘Get your balance with one hand on the wall before you try,’ he advised.

  Stacey couldn’t answer him but she nodded in the darkness. She could hear the dogs baying in the distance.

  She had to get it right. She wouldn’t get another chance.

  This time, he lifted her slowly until she was about three feet away from the opening. She could feel the strength of Bryant’s grip.

  She took a couple of seconds to steady herself before removing her right hand from the wall.

  She slowly reached for the bundle in her mouth. The cloth had dried every drop of saliva. She swallowed dry air to try to moisten her throat.

  She tentatively balanced the ball on the palm of her hand and placed it at her shoulder like a waiter carrying a heavy tray.

  She counted to three in her mind, focussing every ounce of strength she had into her shoulder.

  On three she launched the ball into the air as hard as she could, aiming towards the bushes.

  ‘Okay?’ Bryant asked, lowering her slowly.

  ‘Y… yes…’ she stuttered as the cold air seemed to invade her whole body.

  Bryant rubbed at her arms with moss picked from the wall. ‘Might help disguise the smell,’ he said, before moving away. She heard his movement beside her as she tried to rub at her own freezing skin.

  Within seconds, she felt his jacket being draped around her shoulders and fastened at the front.

  Suddenly every inch of her being wanted to burst into tears.

  Bryant placed a reassuring arm around her.

  ‘You did great, Stace. You did great,’ he said.

  She looked up to the dark sky.

  She’d managed to throw the blood-soaked clothes out of the pit.

  She only prayed that she’d thrown them far enough. For both their sakes.

  ONE HUNDRED EIGHT

  The first punch landed square on his nose. Blood spurted and reached her fist.

  ‘You fucking bastard,’ she spat, as she landed another punch to his face, this time feeling the satisfaction of her fist in his eye socket.

  ‘How fucking dare you?’ she cried, smashing her hand into his mouth.

  A tooth broke free beneath her knuckle.

  Kim felt release in the anger that had taken over her body. It demanded an outlet.

  ‘I… stop…’

  ‘Shut the fuck up you vile, disgusting piece of shit. Who the hell do you think you are, Floda?’ she said menacingly.

  Any thoughts of her career were gone. This man had tried to treat her colleague like a piece of meat, and for what. What possible reason?

  Her hand paused in the air as it itched to land once again on the face of Dale Preece. She suddenly remembered the scene in the hallway of the Preece house. The way old man Preece had called for Dale. Rejecting Bart.

  The truth of the situation flew into her mind like a bullet. The disgust and disrespect from Robson Preece to his youngest grandson. The idle reference to the Hunger Games. Competition and survival. The attempt to distract her with the motorbike.

  ‘Fuck. It’s not you,’ she said, as everything suddenly made sense. ‘You’re not Floda.’

  Dale Preece began to shake his head, as she finally let him go.

  ‘Please, don’t hurt him, Inspector. He’s still my brother.’

  ONE HUNDRED NINE

  ‘Who’s the fucking queer now, Granddad?’ Bart asked, triumphantly.

  For once, he was in the position of power, his grandfather’s chair bound to the old fixed grate.

  ‘You backed the wrong son, Gramps.’

  He watched the irritation flash in the cold blue eyes, just as he had all his life.

  ‘Oh, I forgot. You hate that, don’t you, Gramps? Wouldn’t let us call you anything like that when we were kids. Too playful, too childish. You didn’t want to be anyone’s Gramps, did you?’

  The irritation turned to hatred, and that was fine with Bart. He had waited a long time for this chat with his grandfather. And the gag in his mouth prevented him from talking back.

  ‘But you were right, back then, Gramps. You said that competition would help us strive, make us better. And look,’ he said, pointing outside.

  ‘Look at what I did,’ he said, taking a step closer. ‘You think your precious Dale could have pulled this off? You think precious Dale could have reproduced what you did all those years ago with old Cowley?

  ‘See, I didn’t need any help, Gramps. I did it all on my own. I found the guests. I found the targets. Everything that’s going on out there is because of me, and do you want to know why?’

  ‘Why?’ asked a voice from the doorway.

  His head shot round towards the person who was daring to try and spoil his climax, the picture that had been in his mind for years.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he snarled right at her.

  ONE HUNDRED TEN

  Kim took a step into the room and leaned against the door frame. She did not remove her gaze from Bart’s.

  She had already seen the rifle propped up against the far wall. She knew she had to delay him until help arrived. Her only aim was to keep that gun out of play.

  ‘It’s over, Bart,’ she said, quietly, trying to inject calm finality into her voice. ‘There are armed police all around the building. I came in to bring you out.’

  He glanced towards his grandfather whose expression was as shocked as his own.

  ‘But before we go out, tell us both why you did it, Bart. Tell us why you recreated the atrocity of your grandfather.’

  She saw him glance towards the gun.

  By her reckoning, they were equal distance away from it.

  She had to keep his attention.

  ‘It wasn’t just for him, was it?’ she asked.

  Every fibre of her being ached to launch across the room and beat the shit out of him, but she wanted Bart alive. She wanted to see him on the stand. She wanted to watch every day of his trial. And she wanted to see him carted off to prison to personally face every single black, Asian or gay male the facility had to offer.

  ‘I know why, Bart. It’s because you agree with his racist, bigoted opinions, isn’t it?’

  He nodded slowly, and she saw the same coldness in both of their eyes. They were more alike than either of them knew.

  ‘Of course I do,’ he said, dismissively. ‘How could I not?’

  Kim understood that it had been bred into him. It was an attitude, a belief that he had been spoon-fed his whole life.

  ‘That’s why you chose that disgusting name?’ she asked. ‘An anagram of one of the most evil men that ever lived.’

  Every sentence she spoke delayed his movement towards that gun. There was no point in debating his views. They were despicable and sickening, and she would not be able to undo a lifetime of conditioning in minutes, if ever.

  ‘He knew what he was doing,’ Bart said, as his face took on an ugliness she had not seen before. ‘It’s about purity. T
hey’re taking over, all of them. Don’t you see that we have to do something?’

  ‘And were you blackmailing the Cowleys, like he did?’ Kim asked.

  They had been allowed to stay on the land, rent-free. As long as they minded the bones.

  ‘You shot Billy Cowley, didn’t you?’ she asked, and instantly regretted it, as he turned towards the gun.

  ‘And you took Fiona?’ she said, quickly, to bring his attention back. That’s why Dale didn’t see her that day. ‘She came to demand action from your family after her father was arrested.’

  ‘She needed shutting up, that one. She’s probably bleeding to death somewhere…’

  ‘She’s alive,’ Kim said. ‘We found her, Bart. And my colleague is alive too,’ she said, unable to keep the anger from her voice.

  His frown deepened.

  ‘So, you’ve actually killed no one yet,’ she said, meaningfully. Although she had at least three counts as an accessory, the blood on his hands was currently on a latex glove.

  A bitter laugh sounded from the old man in the wheelchair.

  Bart turned and saw what she could see: derision, disgust and disappointment.

  Kim watched the colour of his shame flood into Bart’s cheeks. Damn it. He was a failure to his grandfather all over again.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he snarled at the old man. ‘I’ll show you how…’

  His words trailed away as he lunged for the gun.

  Kim did the same thing. And missed.

  He grabbed at the gun with his left hand, while pushing her away with his right.

  He lifted the rifle ‒ and shot.

  Robson Preece slumped forward in his chair.

  Bart stood rooted to the spot for a second, staring at the blood bubbling from beneath his grandfather’s suit.

  Kim knew this was her only opportunity.

  She had played for time – and lost.

  She launched forward and used her body weight to push him to the ground. He had turned slightly in her direction and landed on his side.

  The rifle was still in his hands.

  ‘You stupid fucking…’

  He tried to wrestle Kim off him, but her legs were clamped around his waist.

  She grabbed for his arms to retrieve the gun, but he flailed them from her reach.

  Kim managed to lift herself up his body and spread her legs over his backside to stop him from wriggling. If he managed to get his arms free with that rifle, it was game over for one of them; and the odds were not on her side.

  Kim managed to clamp her left palm around the barrel of the gun. She punched him in the throat as she snatched the gun from his grip.

  She launched it across the room, heard it skid across the concrete floor.

  Yes, she could have tried to shoot him, but by the time she’d positioned the firearm he would have managed to wrestle it back from her.

  Now, it was a fair fight.

  ‘Move away from him, Inspector.’

  She froze at the cold, emotionless voice.

  ‘Dale, thank God,’ Bart said, scrabbling to a sitting position. ‘She tried to take the gun; it went off. She killed our grandfather.’

  ‘So, you’re a lying coward as well as a sick racist bastard, Bart?’ Kim asked, breathlessly.

  ‘Shut up, Bart,’ Dale said, stepping into the room.

  The rifle was poised at his shoulder.

  Kim felt the fear in her stomach as she stared at the coldness in the face she’d beaten outside.

  ‘I told you not to hurt him,’ Dale said, pointing the gun at her.

  ‘And I haven’t, yet,’ she said. ‘I want him to face a jury. I want him to pay for what he’s done. I want the world to know what a sick, racist bastard he is. And I want him to suffer for it.’

  He met her gaze and nodded. ‘I know you do.’

  Kim glanced towards the old man. He was dead, and now she was the only thing standing between the brothers and some semblance of a relationship. Despite the competition that had existed between them, they had managed to maintain a deep bond. Throughout it all they loved each other. Their views and their young minds had been twisted out of shape like molten glass but they’d always had each other.

  ‘Just shoot her, Dale,’ Bart cried.

  They would always protect each other.

  ‘We’ll blame all this on her and—’

  His words ended abruptly as a shot rang out.

  Kim waited for the bolt of pain, the feeling of her flesh being ripped apart by lead. It didn’t come.

  Bart Preece slowly crumpled to the ground as his brother lowered the gun to the floor and left the room.

  ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN

  Kim parked the Ninja on the pavement to the right of the hospital doors. Despite the two degree temperature outside, she needed the solitude of the bike today. Too many people were still in her head.

  She had spent the night staring at her bedroom ceiling, questions swirling around her mind. And there was only one person who could give her the answers.

  She headed towards the surgical assessment ward. Her earlier call to the hospital had confirmed the location of her target.

  She edged inside the ward as a patient was being wheeled out.

  The reception desk was unmanned, and Kim did not have the time, patience or inclination to wait.

  She found the person she sought in the second bay along.

  Fiona’s bed was nearest the window. Her head was turned towards the grey, featureless sky.

  Her petite body was clad in a long cotton nightdress, which told Kim some member of the family had been by to bring her own things.

  The dressing around her ankle and foot was padded and clean. A grey furry slipper was on her good foot, the spare one discarded on the bed.

  ‘Hey,’ Kim said, quietly, as she approached.

  Fiona turned to her with a look of hostility, and then seemed to realise that she didn’t need it any more. Her face dropped to neutral.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘How’s the pain?’ Kim asked, sitting on the easy chair.

  She shrugged and nodded towards the machine on her left. ‘Better because of this.’

  ‘Morphine?’

  Fiona nodded.

  ‘What’s the prognosis?’ Kim asked, looking towards the bandaged foot.

  ‘No promises, basically. The doctors don’t know if it will be weight-bearing again, and if it is, I’ll have a limp for the rest of my life.’

  Kim thought about what could have been.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, and I agree,’ Fiona said, appearing to read her thoughts. ‘Is your colleague okay?’

  Kim nodded. ‘Thank God,’ she said, and then added: ‘We searched for you. I never thought for a minute you’d been taken.’

  ‘You thought I was in on it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Can you blame me?’ Kim defended. ‘You blocked me at every turn.’

  Fiona tipped her head. ‘Was it you that fed Gizmo?’

  ‘Did I… oh, the funny thing in your shed?’

  The first real smile touched Fiona’s lips, followed by a grimace and a press of the button. For just a second it had lit up her face and offered a glimpse of the person inside.

  ‘How many other people died last night?’ Fiona asked, quietly. She’d obviously been told about Robson and Bart Preece.

  ‘Is that what you were thinking about when I came in?’

  Fiona nodded.

  ‘Just one, and I’m not sorry for saying that he deserved it,’ she said, honestly. The sight of his chewed-up limbs in the dog cage had been horrific to witness, but easier to bear when Kim realised that it was Gary Flint who had suggested her colleague as the main event, following the police interview. Stacey’s snooping had simply played into Floda’s hands. Kim guessed the theft of Justin’s laptop had been ordered by Floda, to search for anything incriminating, and then used to bait Stacey out of the station.

  ‘How many hunters were there?’ Fiona asked.

&nbs
p; ‘Nine,’ she answered.

  ‘Did all of them actually kill to get into the?…’

  Kim held up a hand to stop her. ‘We don’t know yet. They hail from six other counties. The investigation will be ongoing for some time yet.’

  West Mercia had already formed a task force to conduct the interviews of the nine people who had been apprehended. The team included psychologists, behaviour experts, computer forensics and eleven detective inspectors. The photos Penn had retrieved from Stacey’s phone would be invaluable in matching the person to their username. The website itself had disappeared an hour before the event had begun, and she had asked to be informed specifically when the killer of Brandon ‘Bubba’ Jones was identified.

  Despite what they’d uncovered, Derbyshire Constabulary was determined to treat the acid attack on Shay Chakma as an honour killing. Kim only hoped that the poor woman got the justice she deserved.

  ‘Explain the timeline to me, Fiona. How much did you and your brother know?’

  Kim knew that Fiona would be questioned formally by West Mercia but this wasn’t for the investigation. This was for her.

  Fiona took a deep breath. ‘The first one took place twenty-seven years ago. My grandfather mentioned the lawsuit of Jacob James to Robson Preece, who came up with the idea for a hunt. You know how foul and racist he was.’

  Kim nodded.

  ‘The second my grandfather agreed, he sealed the fate of us all. By the time he knew about the other two victims he was in too deep. He didn’t take part in the event, but he did take the bodies and bury them in the lower field.’

  ‘The one that flooded?’

  ‘Yes. That’s when the victims were moved, and my grandfather told my father everything. My dad wanted to go to the police, but his father wouldn’t hear of it.’

  ‘So, your father continued to babysit the bodies after your grandfather died?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You and Billy?…’

  ‘Found out all this a month ago when Bart came to tell us he would be adding bodies to the grave. He threatened us that if we breathed a word to anyone the next bodies would be ours.’

  ‘So, you authorised the training dig and directed the team?’ Kim asked.

  ‘I wanted someone to find the bodies, and that way none of us had actually said anything. Bart went mental on the day they found something but I told him I’d authorised it before his visit and couldn’t change it. He went for me, and Billy smacked him down, threatened him with the police.’