His last victim had been spontaneous, with no time to plan. He knew it had been reckless, but it had felt so goddamn good taking a life, knowing that he had defeated someone. To the victor the spoils. Or in his case, the power, that invigorating sense of fulfilment that started in his groin and finished at the top of his head in a hair-tingling sensation as though tiny bolts of electricity were being fed through each strand of hair.
Beyond the footballers, in front of a small copse of trees, a woman was throwing sticks for a Golden Retriever. The man hated dogs with a passion. Stinking things should be drowned at birth and he’d gladly do it.
A railway line split the park in two. The side the man sat in was the main playing area, which consisted of the play equipment – slides, swings and climbing frames – and a grassy area with goalposts for playing football. There was also a basketball area and a lake around which sat a few fishermen. Two narrow concrete footbridges, covered in graffiti, arched over the railway tracks and led to a hilly and thickly wooded area, used by mountain bikers and those looking for a walk in the dappled shade.
A train hurtled along the track. At a lower elevation than the park, the train was hidden below the steep banks and all the man heard was the sound of its passing, like distant thunder. He turned his attention back to the people in the park, watching them over the top of his newspaper, inside which there was no mention of his crimes.
Not that he was really bothered. He didn’t do it for the fame and glory. He did it because he had to. He was compelled to feed his inner demons. Movement caught his eye and he stared at a man walking towards the bridge across the railway. He was probably in his early twenties, with short brown hair and a fast, arm-pumping gait that made his head bob backwards and forwards as though on a spring. Of medium build and dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt with Nike printed across it, he was probably a jogger about to tackle one of the trails through the woods.
The man stood up and scrunched his newspaper into the rubbish bin at the end of the bench, then he started walking towards the bridge, head down so as to avoid being noticed. When he reached the bridge, he looked across and saw the man entering the woods, taking one of the well worn paths that led up the hillside. The jogger inserted earphones as he walked and twiddled with an iPod clipped to his sleeve.
People didn’t realise what dangers they were opening themselves up to when they denied themselves one of their senses. The man shook his head, lips slanted in a wry smile. One man’s foolishness was another man’s reward.
As the man was a jogger, he was obviously fit, which made him a more difficult target, but the killer liked to test himself. If the prey was too easy, then where was the sport? He knew the trails well, but there were so many that split off through the trees, that if he lost sight of the man then he wouldn’t have a chance of finding him again so he increased his speed to a fast walk.
Once across the bridge, he followed the dirt path and started up the incline. Leaves and mulch crunched underfoot, and the air was fragrant with the smell of bushes and foliage. Away from the path, ferns carpeted the slope and trees of all shapes and sizes marched towards the top of the hill. A white bowl shaped fungus sprouted from the trunk of a fallen tree, looking almost alien in origin.
The jogger increased his pace, and the man did likewise. After less than a hundred steps, heat spread through his thighs and his calves started to burn. The man ignored the sensation and focused his thoughts on his prey.
Dappled sunlight flickered through the overhead canopy, the leaves rustling in the slight breeze making the light seem to dance across the ground.
Breeze
Wind
Stomach
Gut
Knife
Slice
Dice
Martin Cartwright pounded the trail through the woods, blood pumping through his veins. He was listening to Oasis though his iPod, the music helping spur him on when his muscles said ‘yes’, but his head said ‘no’. The path was well worn, which made the running easier, but there was still the odd root and rock that could jar his ankle if he wasn’t careful.
Although the sun was out, the trees created a dark atmosphere. A wind had started to undress some of the trees; their garments of leaves peeled away a layer at a time. Cartwright could feel the tension in his thighs as he started up a slight incline, but he ignored the sensation, letting his thoughts drift, the music becoming a background ambience.
Two weeks to the day, he was going to be a married man. It was hard to believe he had only been seeing Lisa for a year – the time had flown by and they were engaged after only six months. He knew some people thought they were rushing into it too fast, called it a collision waiting to happen, but Cartwright didn’t care. He loved her. Loved her more than he’d loved anyone. They just seemed to gel right from the get go. They liked the same crummy horror movies, they both drank lager, they were both into exercise, their favourite indulgence food was chocolate ice cream, and they both wanted three kids. There wasn’t anything they disagreed on; they had only had one argument the whole time they were together and that was only about something silly that he couldn’t even recall.
No, he was looking forwards to tying the knot. He was also looking forwards to the honeymoon he’d arranged in Africa. Lisa had mentioned that she’d always wanted to go on safari, to see lions and zebras in their natural home, so he’d arranged it, no expense spared. They were going to stay in a beach cottage in a secluded bay in Kenya. There was a bar facility and an á la carte restaurant on site. The beach was pristine white sand and there was plenty to do, including water sports, cultural visits, the safari and he’d even arranged a hot air balloon flight. Of course, that was only after they’d spent a couple of days consummating the marriage. He smiled to himself at the thought.
It was going to be perfect. He couldn’t wait until he saw Lisa’s face when he gave her the ticket. He pictured her in his mind, her cute smile, the dimples in her cheeks, her short curly brown hair, her button nose and her curvy figure. She was everything he could have wished for and then some.
While he worked as a manager in a bank, Lisa was a dental nurse, and of course, she had perfect teeth. They were so perfect and so white that Cartwright had been ashamed of his own teeth and had had them whitened. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it. His job paid well, and at only twenty four, he was one of the youngest managers in the company. He drove a silver Audi TT and he owned a three storey detached house that Lisa had moved into after three months of them being together.
He thought those people who said it wouldn’t work between them and that he was mad getting married were probably just jealous. He was the luckiest man alive.
The killer gritted his teeth and increased his pace as the jogger crested the top of the hill. He knew that the foliage on the other side was denser and he didn’t want to lose his victim. On the other hand, the foliage would dampen any sound, muffling any noise the man should make.
Breathing hard, he reached the top of the hill and started down bank. The path forked up ahead and for a moment, he didn’t know which way the man had gone until he saw a flash of white through the trees along the left-hand path.
As he ran, he spotted a three foot long, inch wide stick protruding from the ferns and he stopped and picked it up, slapping it against his open palm to test its strength. Satisfied, he continued running, but instead of following the path, he crashed through the ferns, taking a shortcut that would put him in front of his victim. As the jogger was wearing earphones, the man didn’t need to worry about the noise he made, so he forged ahead, slapping ferns aside and keeping the man in his peripheral vision.
The dirt path took a circuitous route and the killer selected a patch of dense ferns next to the path in which to hide. He crouched down, his chest rising and falling as he gulped air. Sweat trickled down his face and dripped off the end of his nose.
The killer heard the jogger approaching, his footfalls making dull thuds on the path and the beat of his already r
acing heart became like one long drum roll. He peered through the fronds. Licked his lips. Wiped sweat from his brow. Tightened his grip on the stick.
When the man came within feet of him, the killer jumped out of the ferns like a mad jack in the box. He swung the stick as he moved. The jogger had time to register a look of shock, his mouth opening in surprise, and then the stick struck him across the head and snapped in half, sending a jarring pain along the killer’s arm.
His victim’s head flew back, the earphones popping out of his ears as the force of the blow sent him flying off course into a tree trunk opposite. He struck with a loud bang, his arms wrapped around the trunk as though in a comical embrace. Next second he staggered back and the killer hit him on the back of the head, opening a large gash in the man’s scalp.
The jogger stumbled around, blood pouring from his nostrils, his eyes wide and alarmed. The killer rammed the end of the broken stick into the man’s neck and blood jettisoned out and splattered the foliage. The jogger clutched at the stick, blood spurting through his fingers. He gagged, spitting out globs of blood, then he fell back and writhed around in the ferns. The killer stood over him, relishing in his victory, the sound of tinny music emanating from the earphones like applause.
Music
Noise
Shout
Scream
Terror
CHAPTER 8
Prosper stared along the road where Veronica Dawson discovered the body the other morning. Surprisingly, there was nothing in the vicinity to indicate a murder had taken place. Even the police tape had been removed.
He scratched his head and then turned and walked towards the large green building opposite. Although mainly only one storey high, the far end had a second floor with a couple of windows. A fence topped with coils of barbed wire ran around the outside of the property and security cameras were attached to the corners, their cyclopean eyes unblinking. The windows had bars over them. ‘Private Property’ signs were attached to the fence. A security guard stationed in the small hut next to the barrier across the entrance watched Prosper approach. He didn’t just look as though he pumped iron; he looked as though he ate it.
“What’s happened to the crime scene?”
The guard adjusted his peaked cap and stared at Prosper. “This is private property.”
“I was just wondering what had happened. There was a cordon set up the other day.”
The guard stared at him in silence, the peak of the cap throwing a band of shadow across his brow, his eyes glistening from within the darkness. Prosper hated wasting his day off like this, but he wanted some answers. He took out his identity card and held it up for inspection. The man didn’t flinch.
“Were you the guard who went to help the woman that found the body?” Prosper put his identity card back in his pocket.
The guard shrugged his bowling ball shoulders.
“Is that a yes or no?”
“So what if I was?”
“Well have you been interviewed by the police?”
“What for?”
“To get your statement.”
The guard ran the back of his hand underneath his nose. “No point. I didn’t see anything.”
“I think I’ll be the judge of that.” He withdrew his notepad. “Now, tell me everything you remember from that morning.”
“I just told you, I didn’t see anything.”
“We can either do this here, or you can come down the station. What’s it going to be?” He hoped the guard didn’t call his bluff and choose the latter.
The guard tugged his earlobe and glanced back at the building he was guarding. “I didn’t see anything. I came on work about six, next thing I hear that woman screaming. I went across, and there’s a body on the ground. That’s it.”
Prosper tapped the pen against the pad. “You didn’t see anyone else around?”
The man shook his head.
“Okay, then what about anyone else who works here.” He pointed towards the building.
“No one would have seen anything.”
“And you can speak for them, can you?”
The guard cleared his throat and scratched his ear. “No one works there. It’s an empty building.”
“Well it seems like a lot of security for an empty industrial unit. And perhaps you’d like to explain why those cars are parked in the car park back there.” He pointed at a row of cars that included BMW’s, Mercedes’ and Lexus’ among their number.
“I’m just employed to protect it, that’s all.”
“So do they pay you well to guard an empty building?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well those cars over there aren’t cheap.” He pointed at the sign emblazoned above the entrance. “Trent Systems. Is that your employer?”
The guard nodded.
“And you don’t know what they do?”
The guard shook his head. “I’m just paid to protect the place.”
“Protect it from what?”
The man shrugged. “Anyway, if that’s it, then I’ll get back to my post.”
“I’d like to have a look around inside.”
“I told you, it’s an empty building.”
“I just want to check it out. I notice there are cameras positioned on the corners. Perhaps they caught something on the morning of the murder, so I’d like to see the tapes or discs; whatever it is you use to record.”
The guard put his hand up to create a physical barrier. “I’m afraid I can’t let you inside, and the discs will have been wiped so there’s nothing to see.”
Prosper frowned. “I can always get a warrant.”
“Well that’s what you’ll have to do, because I can’t let you in.”
“So you’re telling me that you won’t let me look inside an empty building and that after only a few days, the recordings will have been deleted.”
The guard nodded.
Prosper snorted loudly. “I love the smell of bullshit first thing in the morning.”
“Whatever, but you’re not coming in.”
Knowing that he wasn’t going to get any further, Prosper skewed his mouth, glared at the guard and then turned and walked along the road to look at where the body had been found.
He stepped onto the dew covered grass, loose blades sticking to his shoes, and walked up the slight incline. The first thing he noticed was that there had been a thorough clean up job as there wasn’t a spot of blood visible at first glance.
A small evergreen bush about five feet in circumference sat within spitting distance to where he guessed the body had been found. He remembered seeing blood dripping from the foliage, but there was no sign of it now, although a few of the branches had been snapped, showing signs that something had broken them. He turned and looked back at the Trent Systems building and put his hand up to the guard who was still watching him. The man backed into his gatehouse like a bull entering a stall.
If he was officially investigating the case, Prosper could get a search warrant, but he wasn’t, so it was out of his hands. There was definitely something strange about that building and he didn’t believe that the security recordings had been wiped so quickly.
So what the hell were they hiding?
CHAPTER 9
Sunlight glinted off the wet roof tiles. Rivers pulled his Oakley sunglasses down off his forehead to reduce the glare and looked back at the large three storey detached house with its two converging gable ends.
He adjusted his legs, the branches holding up the long abandoned tree house in which he had been hiding all night creaking in response. The structure was obviously intended for someone about ten years of age, and he had to crouch to fit inside. The walls and roof were constructed from old wooden doors, into which squares had been cut to provide windows, but it was solid enough and, apart from in the far corner where the wood had rotted, it was dry.
Having spotted the tree house when perusing the property on Google Earth, he had decided that it
would make an ideal place to wait before the funeral procession left. Situated in a tree in the corner of the expansive lawn, he was far enough away not to be spotted, but close enough to see what was going on.
Rivers glanced at his watch, then picked up the small binoculars from next to his foot and focused on the house. He scanned the windows, through which people were visible, chatting, their expressions sombre as they probably reminisced about the deceased,
Harold Lane. But Rivers wasn’t interested in the people. He was interested in the security. There was an alarm on the front of the building, which could be activated by all manner of sensors, such as window or movement. He picked at slivers of wood around the window and threw them on the floor.
Those sorts of alarms were hard to bypass, but they weren’t impossible if you knew how and if you had the right equipment. Of course, there could be further security inside, infrared sensors and suchlike, but Rivers knew how to spot them, and how to deactivate or avoid them if required. But none of that would be necessary if he could silence the alarm on the wall at the front of the house.
If everything was going to plan, then the mourners would depart in a few minutes and once he gained entry, he would have at least two hours to ransack the place before anyone returned.
Moments later, he saw the people start to leave and then heard the grumble of engines. He watched the procession of vehicles exit the property and drive slowly away.
He waited a few minutes, scanning the building to make sure everyone had left, and then he picked up his backpack, dropped the binoculars inside and climbed down from the tree house, using the spine of rusty six inch nails hammered into the trunk.
He ran across the lawn, then when he reached the house, he clambered up a thick waste pipe that went from below the ground to half way up the wall. When he reached the end of the pipe, he utilised dark coloured bricks that protruded in little clusters of four, the architects or builders obviously not having counted on their artistic peccadillo being used by someone planning to rob the place.
Prosper Snow Series Page 30
