THE WEST LONDON MURDERS an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detective Rob Miller Mysteries Book 2)

by BIBA PEARCE

  The look on her face was anger mixed with disappointment. He felt like a real jerk.

  “What? Are you for real?”

  “Yeah, fuck off.”

  He stood in the doorway and watched as she got off the bed and put her clothes back on. She stormed past him, her chin up, shoulders back. “You’re a cunt, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  She picked up her coat and faced him. “I want my seventy-five quid.”

  Rob took a menacing step towards her. He had a good two foot on her height-wise and was nearly twice as wide. “I said fuck off.”

  She turned and ran.

  Rob sighed and locked the door after her, then went out the front.

  * * *

  “I can’t fucking believe it,” Rob fumed back at HQ. The armed response unit had been stood down. “It wasn’t her.”

  “I can’t believe there are actually women out there who will hunt down a known abuser and seek him out? That’s messed up.” This from Mallory.

  They were all stunned and disappointed in equal measure. Rob had briefed the Superintendent on the way back to the station. There was no reason for him to come in. “Fucking waste of time and resources,” were his exact words.

  Rob scratched his head and paced up and down the small room. He felt like a caged tiger. How had they got it so wrong?

  “What are the chances?” said Jenny. She handed out cappuccinos she’d picked up from Starbucks on the way back.

  “At one point I thought you were going to go to bed with her,” said Will.

  “I contemplated it,” Rob admitted. “I thought she might be testing me, seeing how far I’d go.”

  “Would you have done it?” Jenny’s eyes were wide. They all knew he was married, and most of them knew the circumstances surrounding his marriage.

  “Of course not.” But deep down, Rob wasn’t so sure. If it meant catching a killer — he just might have. At least he’d never have to find out now.

  There were a few chuckles, releasing the tension. Rob slumped into the chair at the head of the table. “What now?”

  “We go back to the drawing board,” Mallory said. “She may still call you on that number.”

  “He’s right,” said Will. “We could bump up the warnings, create another profile lamenting the dangerous and violent Peter.”

  “Maybe Angelique will do that for us,” Mallory murmured.

  Rob shook his head. “I wasn’t that hard on her. If I’d slapped her around a bit, maybe, but that would have been against the rules.”

  “Don’t forget, she likes that sort of thing,” Jenny pointed out. “She’s unlikely to report him when she’s actively seeking these guys out.”

  Mike shook his head. “Crazy chick, man.”

  “She’s in the right business for it,” Jeff remarked.

  “What if we get Peter to call Daring Divas?” Mallory looked at Will. “He can ask for some light bondage, a little tie and tease, maybe some slapping. It may help to heighten his profile.”

  There was a murmur of surprised laughter. Rob stared at him. “Look who’s down with the lingo.”

  “I’ve been reading up on it.” Mallory grinned.

  Just then Rob’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Jo.

  Now wasn’t a good time. He ignored it, slipping it back into his jacket pocket. He’d call her later.

  A short while later it vibrated again, two short ones. She’d obviously left a voice message or followed up with a text. Strange that she’d be calling tonight when she knew he’d have his hands full with the sting operation. A sixth sense made him glance at his phone a second time. She’d left a voice message.

  “Excuse me, guys,” he said, leaving the room.

  He listened to her message and his blood went cold.

  Chapter 37

  “Rob, it’s me. There’s someone in my house. I’m in the hall closet. I’ll keep the line open for as long as I can.”

  They could hear her controlled breathing as she waited for the intruder to find her. There wasn’t a single person around the boardroom table who didn’t admire her guts.

  “Footsteps coming closer. Okay, this is it, I’ll tell you what I know. Come get me, Rob. If this goes bad, come and get me.”

  There was a rustling as she slipped the phone into her pocket, followed by a creak as the cupboard door was wrenched open.

  “Get out!” a female voice ordered.

  “It’s you,” Jo hissed. “Rob, it’s . . .”

  There was a loud crack and a minute later the line went dead.

  Rob felt his heart drop. They all stared at one another.

  “She’s got Jo,” was all he said. A million thoughts flew through his head. Why had the killer gone after Jo? Was it to get to him or did she have something against the NCA agent? How had she even known Jo?

  “But Jo’s not connected to this case.” Mallory rubbed his head in confusion. “I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

  “She was,” said Rob. “She went undercover at the escort agency. She was the one who hacked into their database for us.”

  “Do you think the killer targeted her because of that?” asked Jenny.

  “The killer is sending us a message.” Rob pushed himself to his feet as a surge of adrenalin hit him. It cleared his mind, helped him focus. “She’s saying, ‘This is what happens when you mess with me.’ Francine had Jo’s details on file. Somehow the killer must have realized she was an undercover cop.”

  All the murderer had had to do was keep him under surveillance, and soon enough she’d seen him with Jo. It wouldn’t have taken much to connect the dots. Once again, they’d underestimated her.

  “Are we back to the agency theory?” asked Mallory.

  “Yeah, the killer’s shown her hand. Let’s redo those background checks on everyone at that agency, and I mean everyone. Dig deep. One of them is hiding something that we missed before. Where are we with the friends and family?” They’d put that line of enquiry on hold when Angelique had contacted them.

  “And what happened with the CCTV footage of the vehicles outside Yousef’s place? Have we narrowed it down yet? Come on, guys, give me something. We’ve got to find her.”

  He paced up and down the incident room, trying not to give into the guilt assailing him. First Yvette, now Jo. The nausea rose in his throat. But Jo wasn’t like Yvette. She was tough and well trained, she knew how to handle herself. She would be all right. She had to be all right.

  Come get me, Rob.

  Think, he ordered himself. He played Jo’s message over and over again listening to every nuance, every background sound, the tone of Jo’s voice.

  “Hey, Mallory, come over here for a moment.”

  Mallory came over to his desk and perched on the edge.

  He played his colleague the message. “Does it sound like she knows the killer?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Mallory replied. “She could be saying ‘It’s you’ as in the killer or she could be saying ‘It’s you’ as in she recognizes her from somewhere.”

  “The agency. It has to be. Where are Mary and Francine right now?” Rob sprung out of his chair. “Send Uniform to their houses. I don’t care where they live or what time it is. Do it now.”

  Mallory got on the phone. A few minutes later he’d dispatched police officers to the respective addresses.

  Rob grabbed his jacket. “Mallory, with me.”

  They were just heading out when Mike came rushing up behind them. “Guv, I’ve just checked into Mary’s background. She had a sister who died two years ago. It wasn’t on her statement. She implied she was an only child.”

  “How did she die?” Rob fixed his gaze on him.

  “She was raped and beaten to death,” said Mike. “They found her body in a hostel in Brixton.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” snapped Rob. “How did we fucking miss this?”

  * * *

  Rob flew across town to Mary’s flat, blue
light flashing. The weather alternated between rain and sleet. He had to concentrate really hard not to have a head-on. Mary lived in Stockwell, a fair distance from Richmond, but also south of the river. Rob made it in a record-breaking fifteen minutes. Mallory didn’t say a word the whole way there, but Rob noticed he looked rather green when they skidded to a halt behind a squad car. A uniformed police officer marched over to meet them.

  “It’s empty.” He nodded towards the apartment block.

  “Are you sure?” Rob scanned the run-down exterior of the block. A few dark heads could be seen in backlit windows, peering down on the street below.

  “Yeah, we searched the apartment. It looks like she’s cleared her stuff out, too. There’s not much left.”

  Mary was doing a runner, but first she was going to give him something to remember her by. His throat swelled as he fought back his emotions. He needed to get to Jo before Mary killed her.

  He took out his phone and called Francine.

  “Where would she have taken her?” he barked into the phone.

  “I have no idea.” Francine’s voice was high with tension. “I had no idea she was a killer. You have to believe me.”

  “Francine. Think carefully. Did Mary ever say anything about another property, anywhere she might take Jo?”

  A pause. “I think her mother lived in Bracknell,” she said finally. “I remember her saying she was going to visit her once when she was poorly.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He remembered her mentioning her mother in the interview. Goddammit. They’d had her right in front of them and they’d let her go. He could have kicked himself.

  Mallory was already on the phone asking for an address for Mary’s mother.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Get the local coppers out there,” ordered Rob. “Tell them to search the premises. If her mother doesn’t let them in, they are authorized to break the door down.” Mallory relayed the information to Will.

  “Are we going to Bracknell?” Mallory didn’t look too keen on the idea.

  Rob shook his head. “I don’t think she’d be so stupid as to take Jo to her mother’s house. She’d know it’s the first place we’d look. Besides, it’s a forty-minute drive to Bracknell, more chance of Jo escaping. No, I think she’s taken her somewhere local.” Rob’s phone buzzed. “Yeah?”

  It was Mike. “Guv, we’ve whittled the vehicles from Yousef’s house down to three possibilities. The first one, a blue Honda Prelude, is off the road, no tax disc. The second, a red Toyota Yaris, is registered to a Mr Thomas Ludgrove, who lives in Hounslow. We haven’t been able to get hold of him to verify his alibi for the afternoon of the murder. The final vehicle, a grey Ford Focus is registered to a Zoe Bennet with a company address in Peckham — VL Holdings, twenty-seven Harris Road. That’s near to where Jo lives, isn’t it?”

  “Yes!” Rob thumped his fist down on the hood of the car. That’s it. That must be where she’s holding Jo — if she’s still alive.

  “Another thing, guv,” added Mike. “Guess what Mary’s dead sister’s name was?” He paused. “Zoe.”

  Chapter 38

  Rob drove like a maniac. Luckily, traffic was light and he was able to shoot through Little Portugal into Camberwell, past the green and into Peckham Rye without much trouble. Mallory sat rigidly in the passenger seat beside him.

  Harris Road was situated in the most dangerous part of Peckham, between Queen’s Road and Nunhead. Rob knew from the police bulletins that it had a notorious crime rate, but right now, it was deceptively quiet. Late on a freezing Sunday evening, the streets were mostly deserted. The only people they saw were a vagrant huddled in a doorway and a drunk stumbling towards a bus stop. The windscreen wipers were working overtime.

  He slowed to a crawl as they entered Harris Road and switched off the lights and sirens.

  “Over there!” Mallory pointed to a sad-looking building.

  Rob peered through the windscreen. Smith & Sons was just visible on the side of the wall and underneath, Bake but the rest of the wording was lost to crumbling, pockmarked concrete. The front windows — or what was left of them — were boarded up, but above the dirty green awning they could make out the number twenty-seven.

  “It’s deserted.” With a sinking heart, Rob pulled over on the other side of the road and cut the engine. Please don’t let this be another dead end, he prayed. “Let’s check it out.”

  They climbed out of the car and approached the building. Icy rain pricked their skin and dripped down their necks, but that was the least of Rob’s worries. He surveyed the block. Next door to the derelict bakery was a greengrocer, its metal security door locked and bolted. On the other side was some sort of community centre. The sign on the wall said, St Matthew’s Recreational Centre. Open 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. All Welcome. It didn’t look very welcoming with its corrugated roller door firmly locked in place and covered with graffiti.

  “Nice neighbourhood,” murmured Mallory.

  “You go that way,” whispered Rob, nodding to the left. He took off around the right-hand side of the building. A narrow litter-strewn alleyway separated number twenty-seven from the greengrocer. Rob proceeded with caution, avoiding puddles and looking for a window that he could see through. The alley reeked of urine and God knows what else. At the back he stopped and crouched down. Was that a glimmer of light coming from the basement window? It was so dirty that he could barely see through it. He rubbed it with his sleeve and peered through the grime. Yes! There was definitely a faint flicker down there. Mallory chose that moment to appear around the corner, making him jump.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. “There’s a steel door on my side, but we’ll never be able to break it down.”

  “Call for backup.” Rob gestured to the horizontal window at knee level. “I think they’re in there.”

  Mallory dialled the control room and issued the command into his phone, then crouched down beside Rob to have a look. “I can’t see anything. It’s too filthy.”

  “There’s a definite glow coming from inside and I thought I saw movement.” Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.

  Please let her still be alive. He didn’t want to think about the alternative. Christ, how would he live with himself? It had been bad enough when Yvette had been abducted, but Jo — his wonderful, shining friend, the woman he felt most comfortable with in the whole world — what would he do if she were gone? No, he couldn’t go there. She was alive, he could feel it.

  “How long?” he barked at Mallory. He was itching to get inside. Every moment counted.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Shit.”

  There was nothing they could do but wait. Mallory showed him the steel-enforced door. He turned the handle, slippery from the rain, but the door wouldn’t budge. They’d need a battering ram to knock it down.

  Next to the door was a window but it was boarded up from the inside. Rob tapped it. The glass felt thin. “We might be able to get in this way.”

  “They’ll be here soon.” Mallory peered behind them down the alleyway, looking for the telltale flashing lights, but it remained dark.

  “Soon might be too late.” Rob ran back to the car and reappeared with a baton. He took off his jacket, wrapped it around the baton and struck the windowpane. It shattered on the second knock, the glass falling forward into the alleyway, thanks to the cardboard that had been shoved against it. Rob ran the baton around the edges to get rid of as much glass as possible, then reached in and gave the cardboard a hard shove. It fell away easily, having been taped up against the window.

  “Give me a leg up,” he said.

  Mallory looked uncertain but nodded. The window was fairly narrow, but Rob thought he’d be able to squeeze through. He laid his jacket on the ledge to protect himself from the shards, then climbed up, using Mallory’s clasped hands as leverage. He glanced down. “Wait for backup, then get in here.”

  His DS nodded worriedly.

  Rob shifted his weight over the ledge a
nd dropped on to the floor on the other side. He shone his torch around the room. It appeared to be a back office of some kind judging by the old filing cabinets and a worn wooden desk. In a corner, he spotted a rickety armchair with the footrest out and a blanket thrown over it. On the floor beside it was a bottle of water. Was this where Mary was hiding out?

  Heart hammering, he opened the door and stepped into a dark passageway. Somewhere, water was dripping and there was a dank, mouldy smell in the air. He shone the torch down the corridor. At the far end, he could make out the front door. It was boarded up and nailed in place. No one was coming in that way. He looked around and shone his light on to the lock of the steel side door. It was a double cylinder deadlock. No way was that opening without a key. It seemed his backup would have to barge their way in.

  The hairs on his neck stood on end as a low groan sounded from the bowels of the building.

  Jo!

  He sneaked along the passage to a staircase that led down to the basement. The carpet had long since rotted away and the floorboards creaked as he descended into darkness. With every step he paused, listening hard, but the only sounds were dripping water and the creaking of the old building. He was halfway down the stairs when the door at the bottom flew open and light flooded the stairwell, temporarily blinding him. Without thinking, he threw himself the rest of the way down, landing on top of the person at the bottom. She howled and lashed out. He felt a sharp, piercing pain in his side and realized he’d been stabbed. Somewhere in the background, he heard a muffled shout that he recognized as Jo’s.

  He went for the hand gripping the knife and forced it back against the floor. The body beneath him kicked and squirmed, but he was stronger than she was. Now his eyes had adjusted, he could see it was Mary — a dishevelled, wild Mary. She was glaring at him, straining forward against his bulk, trying to bite him, kick him, scratch him, hurt him in any way she could. He grabbed her other arm and held it over her head while he got his breath back.

  Looking up, he saw Jo strapped to a wooden chair. There was duct tape covering her mouth and she had a bloody temple and a black eye. But she was alive.