Under The Woods: a heart-stopping police thriller (The Forensic Files Book 4)

by K. A. Richardson

  * * *

  10th December, 1905 hours – abandoned school, near Durham

  He watched via the camera as the woman came round from the second dose of ketamine he’d given her. He’d taken her shoes – it always made it harder to escape if they didn’t have shoes. He’d put them with the other pairs he had in the room next to his office.

  He called it his office – in reality, it was a room that held a lamp, a computer, CCTV screens, a leather office chair and a table with a kettle and cups on it.

  The shoes in the next room were tidily placed in rows on the floor. He wasn’t quite sure why he kept them. There were a few pairs of men’s shoes, mostly women’s shoes, and one pair of children’s shoes. He’d learned quickly that children weren’t the type of people he wanted in the building. They were too scared to move from room to room as they searched for the way out.

  The woman in front of him stretched and looked around, her eyes wide in terror.

  It would be interesting to see how she would progress.

  He’d placed a sandwich and bottle of water beside her – he knew she would eat them instantly. Self-preservation always clicked in straight away with the vagabonds and street rats.

  He clicked the kettle on and sat back in his seat, watching as she ripped open the sandwich wrapper and sank her teeth into the bread.

  The sleeping tablet he’d crushed and sprinkled on the butter wouldn’t take long to kick in. Then, he could get on with phase two of his plan.

  It wasn’t time yet for her to join his other treasures.

  First, she had to play the game.

  * * *

  10th December, 1945 hours – Salvation Army shelter, Sunderland

  Sally Amari’s eyes darted around the shelter. She was nervous, not about anything in particular; it was just part of who she was. The years spent with her ex-husband Farooq Amari had worn her down. And then, he’d left. Taking her beloved Danial with him. Even now, thinking his name brought a tear to her eye.

  She found herself hoping fervently that Cheryl would show up – she couldn’t wait to tell her the news. After almost three years, Interpol had advised the police of a lead. A possible location for her son. For the hundredth time since speaking to the sergeant that afternoon, she wished she hadn’t exhausted every last penny she’d had on that private investigator. He’d turned up less than nothing and taken all she had with a snake-like smile on his lips.

  Sally glanced around, slowing her eyes and taking in more of her surroundings. The old men were huddled round a table in the corner, their straggly beards dipping into their soup as they slurped loudly. There was two women serving, Edith was the older one, she knew. Edith served the meagre portions with a frown, and Sally could never quite decide if it was because she worried there wouldn’t be enough food or because she didn’t want to be there. The other girl was young, maybe seventeen. She looked terrified and bruising had spread round her eye and cheek. Sally frowned, remembering what it was like to live in fear like that.

  She still couldn’t see Cheryl, though. Where is she? I heard her reserve her place last night. She’d never miss dinner.

  She gave herself a sharp nod, affirming her decision to go and look for her.

  ‘Please, can I reserve a spot for tomorrow evening?’ she asked Edith as she passed the counter.

  ‘You’ve not even eaten tonight. You okay?’

  ‘Yes, I just need to find Cheryl. She’s not here.’

  ‘Well, we only serve tonight for another half hour or so – if you both aren’t back by then, you’ll miss out.’

  ‘I know,’ Sally’s voice sounded meek even to her ears – she strengthened it a little as she said goodbye.

  * * *

  11th December, 0535 hours – Sunderland City Centre

  It was freezing. Jackson Docherty didn’t need to see the frozen blast of breath leaving his mouth to know that. He’d been called out from his warm comfy bed well over an hour ago and was now standing in front of what could only be described as one of the worst drug deaths imaginable.

  The man in question had been dead for some time – rigor had set in, then eased, and he was now partially frozen. There was no electric in the house, and the lights Jackson had erected were attached to the portable generator. The glare was bright, unnatural.

  It gave the man’s body a yellow hue – and illuminated the pools of vomit around him. Another pool was spread around his genitals and feet: a smelly, darkened pool – Jackson felt his nose crinkle in disgust – in his opinion, there wasn’t much worse than shit and piss when it had sat for a while and stagnated.

  The man had a needle sticking out of the crook in his elbow – a dirty needle that had definitely been used multiple times. All of the places that druggies could get clean, sterile needles and they still reused dirty ones. It made his head reel.

  What stood out most about the man, though, were his legs. The bottoms of his trousers were torn and ragged – his calves eaten almost to the bone. The dog he’d owned had finally got so hungry, it had eaten its owner. The dog was the only reason the neighbours had sounded the alarm – he hadn’t shut up barking for three solid days and nights, and some worried ‘Lynda Snell’ neighbour had finally rung the police, putting in a concern for the occupant.

  A concern that had resulted in the door being kicked in by the police, and one of them almost getting bitten. The dog had gone crazy – not letting them anywhere near its food source. They’d had to call the ARVs in – the armed response cops who could put the dog down as humanely as possible. Even with a control pole, the on-duty dog section officer had no hope of getting near enough to noose it.

  So, they’d done the only thing they could.

  Even now, the dog’s carcass lay on the ground behind the sofa on which the dead man lay.

  Jackson took a breath, ignoring the stale stench in the room, and cracked on with what he needed to do. He started by quartering the room with his camera, then focussed on the man’s face for a profile shot. Extending outwards, he took detailed images of the syringe, the pock marks on his overused arms, and the small cut to his neck.

  It didn’t look suspicious, but it paid to get the job done right every time. Leave no margin for error. All CSIs were told about the old story of a CSM who’d declared a death non-suspicious then found a knife in the victim’s back when they’d turned him over. It made them all vigilant – none wanted the embarrassment associated with such an error.

  The CID officer, DS Ball, was waiting in the hall. He’d told Jackson that the pathologist had already been contacted and was en route. Which Jackson already knew – he’d read the log as soon as he’d walked into the office. Printed it off, even – it sat snugly inside the force folder in the cab of the van.

  But DS Ball didn’t need to know that. He was a nice enough guy – newly promoted, so cocky and still a little green around the edges, but generally, he seemed decent.

  Jackson worked the scene methodically – visual, photographs, forensic, fingerprints – the method all CSIs used to work a scene. It didn’t take him long to get as much done as he could without the pathologist being present. Before he knew it, Dr Nigel Evans was pushing the door to the living room open.

  ‘Jackson,’ he greeted with a weary smile. ‘I’m getting too old for these early call outs.’

  ‘Know how you feel, doc. Seems pretty straightforward – haven’t noticed anything that looks suspicious, but we won’t know for sure until we move him.’

  ‘Let’s crack on, then,’ replied Nigel, snapping some blue gloves over his hands.

  * * *

  11th December, 0700 hours – Sunderland City Police Station

  Jackson was knackered. He’d already made the decision to work through to an early finish. No sooner had he finished at the drug death, he’d been called to an assault in the city centre. He’d finished that one and then eventually headed back to the nick.

  Grabbing all the evidence bags and his folder, he made his way through the archw
ay to the back door of the station. He didn’t see the patch of black ice, though, and his police-issue boots flew from under him, his backside impacting with the paved yard with a thud. The evidence bags and his folder had flown from his hands and were scattered around him.

  ‘Need a hand?’ asked Deena Davis, one of the other CSIs. She made quick work of picking up his stuff, then offered him a hand.

  With a grunt, Jackson accepted it, and she pulled as he pushed himself up.

  He was surprised she had stopped, to be honest – after the incident last Christmas, she’d been nothing but cool to him. She had every right to be worse than cool, to be fair. Back then, he’d been a jack-the-lad – his reputation was pretty well known. He’d been wanting to change for some time now, but no one else seemed to believe it. He found himself wanting to settle down, something he never thought he’d hear himself saying. Since Deena, he’d only been with one woman, and she’d turned into a bit of a nightmare, anyway, so he was glad it had ended. It wasn’t that he loved Deena or anything even remotely like that – but she had expected things from him that were normal for her to expect. She’d at least expected him to call – and he hadn’t.

  He should apologise, at least try to explain. But too much time had passed.

  So, instead of speaking, he held the back door open and let her through, following her silently.

  He was a jerk – and he knew it.

  * * *

  11th December, 0730 hours – Rainbow Riding Stables

  TJ loved this time of day, especially in the winter. The horses were awake and wanting their breakfast, and it was at this time she helped the other stable hands take care of the horses. It was still dark, but the sky had turned navy blue as the sun made efforts to rise.

  One of her mares, Domino, was pregnant and due to drop her foal any day now. Her large, rotund stomach made her look huge – she must have been somewhat uncomfortable, but she never showed it. Domino was one of the sweetest mares at the stables and was easily the most reliable. Obviously, she hadn’t been ridden in some time – she’d been carrying her foal now for almost a year.

  TJ led her out of the stable and into the sun lamp area in one of the barns – the staff used the lamps on the horses through the winter to help maintain their health and vitamin D levels, as well as during the summer for warm-downs that prevented muscle stiffness.

  Domino loved it – she nickered in anticipation when she saw the lamps, and TJ knew it helped ease whatever back pain she must be feeling. The vet had confirmed numerous times that the foal she was carrying was relatively large. TJ had her on watch – as soon as her contractions started, she would know and be down there to assist, with her mobile, in case the vet was needed.

  She tied Domino’s lead rein to the hook on the wall, stepped back and turned on the lamps. They illuminated the horse with a red glow, and she started nibbling contentedly on the hay basket in front of her. TJ stepped out of the area. Domino would be happy there for ten minutes or so.

  ‘Excuse me, miss, I was wondering whether you wanted Alto and Gypsy turning out? They’re not being ridden today.’ Paul’s voice came from behind her, and momentarily, her heart burst into a staccato of thumping. Does he always have to sneak up? Jesus.

  Quelling her thoughts, she turned to face him. He was an average looking man in every way – average height and build, and just normal to look at. Nothing would stand out about him, from his brown hair and blue eyes to his freshly shaven face. She’d never seen him particularly dirty or unkempt, even after taking the horses out on rides when they needed exercising, or getting them in from the field, unless it was a particularly rainy day. Even then, the mud was generally confined to his lower legs and boots.

  Realising he was waiting for her to respond, she cast her mind to the schedule.

  ‘Yeah, turn them out, and also Rain, Clancy, Oliver and Diego. They could all do with a run about. Rug them up first, though – it’s freezing today.’

  Paul turned with a brisk nod and headed back around to the next stable block along.

  He really was a funny one – she didn’t like the way he snuck up on her, or the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, but he had a way with the horses she’d rarely seen. It was almost as if they understood him and he them.

  Banging occurred from the end of the barn she occupied with Domino, and after a cursory check on the horse, she strode down to the exit at the bottom.

  Barry Cox was hammering nails into wood that was beginning to take form as a bathing area for the horses. He’d been a general all-purpose helper at the stables for as long as TJ could remember. He was in his 50s and looked as fit as a lop. Barry did a bit of everything, so was handy to have around, and he never caused any issues.

  ‘Hi, Baz, how’s it going? Looking good. Is there going to be any issues extending the water pipe round?’ She found herself mentally comparing him to Paul – they were both pretty similar in build and height, though Barry’s arms were more muscular. They even both had brown hair and blue eyes – but Barry was always smiling. Paul rarely cracked a grin.

  ‘Hi, TJ, thought you might hear me banging. You giving Domino her sun time? Everything’s all good with me. I’m going to use an insulated plastic pipe under the ground – should prevent it freezing up. The small digger should be arriving tomorrow. It won’t take them long to dig the trench, and then, the water bloke’s coming later this week to adjust the pipe and extend it down. I’ll then lay some concrete, and it’ll be done by this time next week.’

  ‘She does love those sun lamps,’ replied TJ with a grin. ‘That’s great – do you need me to help with anything?’

  ‘No, it’s all under control. You just deal with the other stuff – she’s due to foal, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yea, I’ve fitted the CCTV camera so I can remote monitor – it feeds onto my phone. When she goes into labour, I’ll know. The vet’s on standby, too.’

  ‘Be great if she has a filly – it’ll be good to train her up from birth. Good breed lines too. Gives you options.’

  ‘Sure does – I’m happy with whatever she has, colt or filly, it’s all good with me. We’ll sort something out whatever happens.’

  ‘I’m going to crack on with this. I’ll catch up with you at the meeting later?’

  ‘You will indeed. Thanks again, Baz.’

  TJ turned and made her way back inside the barn, blowing her breath on her hands to warm them up.

  * * *

  11th December, 0745 hours – Rainbow Riding Stables

  He stood in his normal spot, panting slightly as though out of breath. The holly tree was plush and provided him a good view of the house. He’d seen her leave a while ago – knew she’d be down the stables for some time.

  It was now or never.

  He shouldn’t have been so stupid the first time he’d broken into the house. He needed to take the blueprints with him, as well as other documents. He had to stop her encroaching on his treasures. That was no place to build the new arena, and he needed to make her understand.

  A movement caught his eye to the left, and he focussed in on it.

  He scowled when he saw it was the younger of the Brown boys. Always poking their noses in where they didn’t belong. If anyone was going to catch him outside, it would be one of them. They skulked around more than he did and that was saying something.

  He pulled back to hide his form – the sun hadn’t yet risen, but shadows were funny things. He watched as Brown snuck towards the house.

  Stupid kid – the slightest noise, and he’ll shit a brick.

  What did he want at the house at this time of day, anyway?

  Curious now, he leaned forward, watching.

  Alan Brown slowly knelt down in front of the door, lifting one of the paving slabs with a soft huff of exertion. The dim illumination from the hall light inside highlighted his form.

  For a moment, he wondered how Brown’s son knew that the woman was at the stables – then quickly realised.
It wasn’t a secret. You only had to watch for a few days to get her routine. It barely altered at all.

  Brown pulled a package from under the paving slab, then pulled the slab back over, glancing round as it made a thump. Maybe he thought someone had seen – he would be right. He tucked the package inside his jacket pocket and literally ran back to his dad’s farm.

  Leaving his unseen watcher wondering what was in the package.

  He shook his head a little, though – later, maybe, he could afford to look further into it – knowledge was power after all – but right now, he had another job to do.

  He made his way to the front door and pulled the lock pick set from his pocket. Within seconds, the door creaked open, and he stepped inside.

  The hall light was brighter inside – showing the hall cabinet and the coats hanging at the door. He didn’t care about the hall – he knew his prize was in the living room. That was where he’d seen the blueprints – and he was sure she wouldn’t have moved them.

  Sure enough, the blueprints were on the table.

  He knew it would look obvious what he’d been after if he just took them, so he emptied drawers and smashed the table lamp on the floor. He grabbed the money hidden in one drawer, not because he needed it, but because it made sense.

  Grabbing some books off the shelf by the fire, he threw them around the room also. The small tablet computer beside the couch was next to go inside his jacket with the blueprints.

  He found her tidy stack of bank statements and other bills related to the house – after riffling through, though, he realised it wasn’t what he wanted.

  Lines puckered his tanned forehead. Where would she have put her purse? It was her signature he required. Only way to get that was from a woman’s purse. Spying the handbag beside the armchair, he smiled. He grabbed the debit cards from the flap at the back of the purse and closed it, replacing it in her handbag.