Dark Water: A gripping serial killer thriller

by Robert Bryndza

‘Yes, Boss.’

  ‘And get one of the large evidence bags from the car.’

  John went off as Erika pulled out her iPhone and took some photos of the open case, the flash briefly illuminating the darkness on the common. She closed the case again, locking the latches.

  ‘DCI Foster,’ said Lorna coming over from where she’d been talking on the comms unit. ‘One of our divers has just been doing a sweep of the area where we found the case, and he’s found something else which, perhaps you should see…’

  * * *

  A few minutes later, another diver emerged from the water with something dark and misshapen cradled in his arms. He brought it over to the floodlit area of ground, where they saw it was a mud- streaked bundle of plastic entwined in rusty chains, which were looped through and weighed down by what looked like exercise weights.

  No one in the team said anything. It was no more than five feet long, misshapen, and had folded over on itself. The plastic was old and brittle and seemed bleached of colour.

  ‘It was found four feet away from the plastic case, partially submerged in silt on the quarry bed,’ said Lorna. It looked as if it had been down there for longer than the past few months. As the diver placed it on the floor, the weights clinked and jangled.

  ‘I need the bolt cutters,’ said Erika, breaking the silence. John pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves, and gently set to work, clipping the rusty chains, which were thin but woven over and under several times. The plastic was so brittle it had become rigid, so it crackled as the chains were unwound, and water began to seep out onto the grass from inside. Erika pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves and began to help John as they slowly worked unfolding the plastic.

  They were silent apart from the hum of a generator, and despite the cold, Erika realised she was sweating. The plastic was folded repeatedly and rolled over, and as they unwrapped the layers, she thought whatever was inside was small. It smelt only of pond water, stale and a little unpleasant, which set alarm bells off in her mind.

  Then they reached the last fold in the plastic, and opened it out with a crackle. Inside lay a small skeleton, a jumble of pieces, amongst a layer of fine silt. Little remained of its clothes, and scraps of brown material clung to a piece of ribcage. Below it was a small thin belt with a rusted buckle looped around the spinal cord, still attached to the pelvis. The skull was loose, and nestled in a curved pile of ribs. A few murky wisps of hair remained attached to he top of the skull.

  ‘Oh my god,’ said Lorna.

  ‘It’s very small… It looks like a child’s skeleton,’ said Erika softly. John stood and moved quickly away, out of the darkness to the edge of the quarry, where he was violently sick.

  3

  The banks of Hayes Quarry had been chaotic after they found the human remains. It had started to rain heavily. Lorna had withdrawn her team from the water; they had all exceeded their dive time, and had to rest up so the levels of nitrogen in their blood could level out. Backup officers were called. Valuable time passed as statements were taken and the small remains were photographed by an official CSI.

  As the pathologists van pulled away with the small skeleton zipped up in a black body bag, Erika couldn’t shake off what she’d seen. The empty staring eye sockets of the small skull. A thin belt with a rusty buckle looped around the spinal column, and the wisps of long hair still attached to the skull, coarse and tangled by the water. She’d felt a pang of regret she was no longer in her old job on the Murder Investigation Team at Lewisham Row. She was now working in conjunction with The Projects Team, fighting organised crime. It would be another officers job to find out how the small skeleton ended up thirty feet down, in the freezing blackness.

  It was still raining hard when Erika climbed into the driver’s seat of her car. It hammered down on the roof, and the blue light from the surrounding squad cars and dive lorry caught in the raindrops on the windscreen. She ran her hands through her wet hair and turned to John.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Sorry, Boss. I don’t know why I… I’ve seen two dead bodies before. There wasn’t even any blood.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Erika started the engine as the two backup vehicles and the one escorting the case of heroin pulled away. She put the car in gear and followed. They rode in silence as the convoy’s headlights illuminated the dense woodland, rolling past on both sides of the gravel track.

  ‘Looking on the bright side, we found the case, where she said it would be,’ said John.

  ‘We need fingerprints.’

  ‘Theresa Grove said she was there when he packed that case with his bare hands…’

  Erika was exhausted, but they still had a long night ahead of them. Jason Tyler’s girlfriend Theresa Grove had been persuaded to turn informant. If they found his prints, and the case went to trial, she would most probably have to go into hiding and then witness protection. If they didn’t find any prints then they would still have to move fast to keep Theresa and her two children safe.

  They left the common, and drove through Hayes Village. Lights blazing in the windows of the supermarket, chip shop and the newsagent where a row of Halloween rubber masks hung limp in the window, all blank eyes and grotesque hooked noses.

  Erika couldn’t seem to summon up any feelings of triumph. She’d spent several years heading up anti drug squads during her time in the force. The names seemed to change: Central Drug Unit, Drug and Organised Crime prevention, The Projects Team. All with their own snappy acronyms and mission statements, but the war on drugs would never be won. You take out one supplier, another one takes his place, filling the vacuum with even more skill and cunning. Jason Tyler had filled a vacuum, and in a short space of time it would happen again. Murderers, however were different, you could catch them and lock them up. Sometimes if you were lucky you got to throw away the key.

  The squad cars in front came to a halt at a set of traffic lights as commuters streamed out of the train station carrying umbrellas. The lights turned green but they couldn’t move as the roundabout up ahead was clogged with two double decker buses. Rain clattered on the roof of the car.

  ’You asked earlier if I was married,’ said Erika.

  ‘Sorry, Boss. I just wanted to know if you’d like to bring anyone for dinner.’

  ‘He was in the force. He died during a drugs raid, two and a half years ago.’

  ‘Shit. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have said anything… Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. Although, I thought everyone knew.’

  ‘I’m not really into gossip. And you’re still welcome to come for dinner. I meant it. Sarah’s lasagna is really good.’

  Erika grinned, ‘Thank you. Maybe when this is over.’

  ‘What about that skeleton, it’s a little kid, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah… I know its tough, but you have to put that to the back of your mind, at least for the time being.’

  John nodded. The buses moved off from the roundabout, and the traffic began to creep forward.

  * * *

  Bromley South Police Station is a modern three-storey brick building at the bottom of Bromley High Street, opposite the train station, and a large Waitrose. On weekdays, the shops on the paved high street all shut their doors at six pm, and the last of the workers were hurrying under the awning of Bromley South Train Station, the torrential rain and the promise of the weekend to come hastening their rush. The first groups of Friday night drinkers were moving in the other direction, congregating under the station awning and moving up the high street. There were young girls holding tiny jackets over their heads, to keep their even tinier dresses dry, and boys in shirts and smart trousers holding free copies of The Evening Standard. Erika turned into the slip road, which wound down to the underground car park, following the two squad cars, their lights still flashing, flanking the car carrying the heroin.

  The ground floor of Bromley Station housed the uniform division, and the corridor was busy with officers arriving for the night shift, pensive and
gloomy at the prospect of the night ahead, dealing with underage drinkers. Superintendent Yale met Erika, John, and the six uniform officers accompanying the case at the main staircase up to CID Division. He had a ruddy face, a shock of bristly red hair, and he always looked as if someone had stuffed him into his uniform, it was a size too small for his bulky frame.

  ‘Okay, Sir,’ said Erika.

  ‘Good work, Foster,’ he said, beaming at the case wrapped in the evidence bag. ‘I’ve got the fingerprint technicians waiting upstairs.’

  ’The salvage didn’t go to plan, we found…’ started Erika.

  ‘Yes, human remains. Let’s hold off on talking about that. Any requirement for an investigation will be determined by the age of the bones. If they’re more than seventy years old we don’t have to investigate…’

  ‘Sir. The skeleton was wrapped in plastic sheeting.’

  ‘Yes, but we’ll have to rule out that it’s not medieval remains. There was a case a few years back, where a skeleton was found on a beach in the Isle of Wight. Police were looking to open a murder investigation and then carbon dating showed that it was 2,000 years old…’

  ‘Sir, they looked modern, it was a child…’ started Erika.

  ‘Erika, we’re at a crucial stage here, don’t lose focus.’

  They reached the door to an office where a plain-clothes officer was waiting.

  ‘Ah, DI Crabbe. Here it is, let’s see if we can get some prints off this and nail Jason Tyler!’ said Superintendent Yale. ‘Erika, you and John grab something to eat and warm up. We’ve got four hours and seventeen minutes,’ said Yale, pulling up his sleeve to check his watch buried in his hairy wrist. ‘So let’s get cracking.’

  * * *

  Erika and John came up to the large open plan office on the second floor and waited with a group of six other CID officers from her team, two women and four men. Four hundred and seventy-seven wrapped bags of heroin had to be separated and dusted for prints by the team of six fingerprint technicians.

  They sat in silence as rain hammered against the windows. Erika paced up and down in front of one where she had a view of the high street. Rainwater was cascading down the hill like a river, as people darted in groups across from one pub to the other. A car alarm was blaring halfway up the hill, parked outside the Boots on the corner by the traffic crossing. Just as the noise ceased, a young lad broke away from a group walking past, leapt onto the bonnet and stood arms outstretched and jumped up and down. The car alarm started up again as he and his mates whooped and laughed, then ran for it.

  Her phone rang and she moved quickly to her desk snatched it up. All eyes were on her as she listened, she replaced the receiver.

  ‘They’ve lifted a print off one of the baggies, it’s just being scanned into the database.’

  The faces of her team lit up.

  ‘How long will it take?’ asked John.

  ‘They’re running it through the database with the print we took from Jason Tyler. If it’s a match, we’ll know within the next few minutes.’

  4

  The cells of Bromley South Police station were housed in the basement. A thick steel door separated it from the offices and interview suites. Jason Tyler’s face dropped when he emerged in handcuffs, escorted by two uniformed officers through the steel doors, to see his Solicitor, Superintendent Yale, DCI Foster, several uniform officers and the rest of her CID team standing by the main desk.

  Erika clasped a clipboard with the full list of charges. Jason Tyler wore expensive trainers, blue tracksuit bottoms, a white sleeveless t-shirt and a zip up sports top. Police had arrested him in the early hours of Wednesday morning by police at a gym in Bromley. He stood at just less than five feet, but was powerfully muscled. His dark hair was cropped with a thin Mohawk. His brown eyes were large, but set close together.

  ‘What is this shit?’ he started to shout. ‘You gotta be fucking kidding me? You’ve got fuck-all. Giles? GILES?’ his Solicitor gave a frustrated shake of his head.

  Jason was brought to stand by the duty sergeants’ desk. Erika was very tall, standing at just over six foot. Within a professional or personal situation she would often put a little space between herself and a man who was shorter, but she realised what a kick she got from standing in front of him, towering over the little shit. He glanced up at her then looked away.

  ‘Jason Paul Tyler. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Erika Foster and I’m here to inform you that this afternoon we recovered a case containing four kilos of heroin with an estimated street value of four million pounds from the bed of the Hayes Quarry. We have positively identified a print of a left index finger from one of the bags inside and have successfully matched this to the print of your left index finger taken when you were arrested. Therefore you are formally charged with intent to supply a controlled illegal substance.’

  He didn’t say anything, his small brown eyes bored into hers. Erika read out the rest of the charges, and informed him he would have a bail hearing on Monday morning, where the CPS would press for him to be denied bail.

  When he was led back to the cells, they came back up to the offices on the top floor. Only then did they break into whoops of delight. They had come close to having to release Tyler.

  ‘Okay everyone, that was close to the wire, bloody good work. Now we can link him to the drugs, we need to start thinking about sweetening the deal for Tyler. Maybe he can offer up some names in the hope of a reduced sentence,’ said Superintendent Yale. ‘Trust a bloody drug dealer to put the spanner in the works for any celebration drinks. I wouldn’t advise hitting the pubs now for last orders, unless you want to be roped in by uniform division to help with the chaos.’

  Erika was pleased that they were well on the way to nailing Jason Tyler, but she knew that with a plea bargain, and an expensive legal team, he would probably only lose a few years of his life.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Yale coming over to her. ‘And I thought I was solving a staffing problem letting you join my team. Seems I’ve inherited a real asset.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir, I think,’ said Erika. He looked at her curiously.

  ‘I thought you’d be a bit more stoked about this. We’ve been after Jason Tyler for three years, and you sew it all up in a couple of months.’

  ‘Sir, it’s far from being sewn up. I know how these things work. Drug dealers have deep pockets, and deep pockets attract the best legal teams…’

  He put his finger to his lips. ‘Let’s just stay in the moment.’ He clapped his hands, and put himself back in the middle of the celebrations, announcing, ‘I can’t give you any alcohol, but I’ve got a case off brand cola left over from one of our open days, and I’ve got a spare key for the vending machine!’

  Erika looked at the room full of officers celebrating, she sat down on the edge of a desk and for a moment felt exhaustion overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and the image of the tiny skeleton laid out on the banks of the quarry came rushing up to her. She opened her eyes, and her heart was racing. She didn’t feel like celebrating. She picked up her coat, and slipped out of the office.

  5

  After the adrenalin rush of the Friday night, Saturday and most of Sunday were equally busy for Erika and the team. Jason Tyler’s girlfriend, Theresa and her two children were moved to a safe location, and reports had to be prepared for Monday morning when Jason Tyler would be appearing in court. On Saturday morning a statement was put out to the press detailing the arrest and charging of Jason Tyler, but omitting the discovery of the skeletal remains.

  ‘It will cloud the case, and we need to learn the identity of whoever it is. And if we need to even pursue it,’ Superintendent Yale had said. He had sounded hopeful that they were historical remains. Erika wasn’t hopeful, but she would at least be able to sleep at night. The skeleton had haunted her dreams. If they were historical remains, it wouldn’t make the situation any better, but the killer would most probably be dead too.

  On Sunday afternoon she returned to her f
lat in Forest Hill for a shower, and to rest up before the week ahead. She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and was sitting on the sofa watching a film when the phone rang.

  ‘Erika, hi. It’s Isaac,’ said a smooth male voice. Since she’d moved to London two and half years ago Forensic Pathologist Isaac Strong had become a friend in addition to a trusted colleague. ‘Are you busy?’ he added.

  ‘Not really, I’m watching a film. Sarah Jessica-Parker and Bette Midler are on broomsticks, followed by another witch on a vacuum cleaner. ’

  ‘Ah, Hocus Pocus. I can’t believe it’s going to be Halloween again…’

  ‘This will be my first Halloween in Forest Hill. I’m thinking being on the ground floor might put me at a disadvantage for trick or treaters,’ said Erika pulling the towel off her head with her free hand and rubbing at her wet hair. Isaac paused,

  ‘This isn’t a social phone call. It’s about the human remains you recovered on Friday at Hayes Quarry.’

  She froze with the towel in her hand.

  ‘I thought they went to the anthropology pathologist?’ she said.

  ‘They did.’

  ‘So why are you calling me about them?’

  ‘They were with Dr Brian Michaels, but he saw immediately that the clothes and effects are post 1970s. So I took over. The skeleton was sent over yesterday evening…’

  ‘And?’

  ’And I’m at the morgue in Penge. I need to talk to you. How soon can you get here?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m already on my way,’ she said dropping the towel and hurrying to get dressed.

  6

  Erika’s footsteps echoed on the stone floor in the long corridor of the morgue leading down to the autopsy room. She reached a door at the end, and a video camera high on the wall above the door whirred as it turned, almost greeting her. The thick metal door buzzed and clicked open and she went through.