Hide and Seek

by Denver Murphy

  HIDE AND

  SEEK

  On the run, a serial killer lays a trap

  Book 2 of the DSI Jeffrey Brandt Murders Trilogy

  DENVER MURPHY

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2019

  © Denver Murphy

  Polite note to the reader

  This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.

  You are invited to visit www.thebookfolks.com and sign up to our mailing list to hear about new releases, free book promotions and other special offers.

  We hope you enjoy the book.

  HIDE AND SEEK is the second book in a trilogy about the murderous escapades of ex-detective Jeffrey Brandt and his pursuer, DCI Stella Johnson. It can be enjoyed as a standalone. Details of the first book, ONE STEP AHEAD, and the third, SMOKE AND MIRRORS, can be found at the end of this one.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Other books in the trilogy

  FREE BOOKS IN YOUR INBOX

  Prologue

  The hotel room may have been unfamiliar to DCI Stella Johnson when she awoke, but she immediately knew where she was and how she had come to be there. The drugs provided by the staff at the hospital were still helping to numb her physical pain, but nothing could dull the anguish she was experiencing.

  A mere 48 hours ago she had never felt more alive, being tantalisingly close to winning the two prizes she coveted most. In apprehending the serial killer who had been terrorising communities across the country, she would have passed the greatest challenge in her career, and could then focus on what she had been denying herself all this time: McNeil.

  When news of the first stabbing in Nottingham reached the station, Johnson had been forced to collect someone from uniform to accompany her to interview their initial suspect. PC McNeil, still relatively new to the force and many years her junior, was only meant to be a makeweight. He was to be seen but not heard. And yet, long before she saw anything romantic there, it was clear he had the makings of a good detective.

  When it became clear that they weren’t just dealing with a one-off incident, she came to rely on McNeil’s assistance. More than just an effective sounding board, his natural instincts were strong, and he had helped to stop her near-obsessive need to catch the killer from becoming too unorthodox in approach.

  But that was until their quarry made the mistake of trying too hard to cover up a murder in which he had failed to take his actions to a new level of depravity.

  Reverting back to his preferred method of stabbing his victims in the street, the man Johnson now knew to be former Detective Superintendent Jeffrey Brandt, had fooled everyone except her. Determined to use this to her advantage, she had sought to draw him out through a scurrilous newspaper article. McNeil only found out about her plan when he read the morning headlines, not only illustrating that she knew she had been crossing the line with this strategy, but also meaning that she was solely responsible for what happened next.

  Casting aspersions of a sexual nature did bring Brandt out into the open but not in the way she had expected. He had lain in wait for her outside the police station and had followed her home with the intention of demonstrating to his accuser first hand that he was neither confused as to his sexuality, nor was he unable to become physically aroused by women.

  Having punched Johnson into unconsciousness at her front door, he had stripped her and tied her to her bed. But the knowledge that he had ultimately been unsuccessful didn’t bring the slightest shred of comfort to Johnson as she stared at her hotel room ceiling. She didn’t know why McNeil had chosen to come around to her house that night, but there was no denying that they had become more than just colleagues. The thought that he had been unable to respect her calls for patience only served to cause Johnson more pain. The feelings he had developed for her – feelings that she had nurtured and cultivated – may have ended up saving her, but in so doing McNeil had paid the ultimate price.

  Chapter One

  The sight of McNeil holding up the knife that only a moment ago was buried in his chest, caused the screams of protest to die in Johnson’s throat. She continued to stare at him as he delicately placed it in her hands.

  She didn’t want it; all she wanted was him.

  Allowing it to drop onto the bed, she grasped his hand instead. His look of regret was replaced with a smile. But it soon faded along with their connection, despite Johnson clutching him with all her might. His eyes remained steady but were no longer focused on her. Fear overcame her once more and the screaming recommenced.

  Johnson didn’t want to let go of McNeil, as though the very act would cause him to be lost. The calls for him to wake up mutated into unintelligible screeching; a sound so alien that it endangered her sanity. But amidst the wild panic there remained a single shred of coherence. If he were to be saved, she would need help. Releasing his hand and severing their physical bond was the hardest thing she had ever done. With her grip now free, she frantically scrabbled around, horrified that the knife might have fallen to the floor. So relieved was she to feel the metal blade that she grabbed it, cutting herself in the process. Working her fingers along to the hilt, she contorted her wrist in an attempt to hack her bonds. She missed, and the jarring of metal upon metal as she gouged the wrought-iron bed frame, almost caused the knife to slip out of her slick palm. Gripping it to the extent that she heard her knuckles crack, she tried again and, with a few rough strokes, her hand became free. Fighting the pins and needles in her arm, she managed to twist herself, allowing her to tackle the other side. Johnson relied on her core strength to haul herself up into a sitting position, so she could attend to her feet, not caring that her desperate slashes left gashes on her ankles.

  Resisting the urge to leap from the bed and sweep McNeil up in her embrace, she made her way unsteadily to the door, using the wall for support. Desperation drove her on and, despite her injuries, she took the stairs two at a time. With only thoughts of McNeil in her mind, the body spread across the floor at the bottom nearly caused her to lose her balance as she abruptly came to a halt. Before her was the man responsible for this atrocity; lying in a pool of his own blood. A wave of revulsion surged through her, only to be replaced by pride that McNeil had risked his life to save her. She wondered why he had come to her house, given they had agreed to part for the evening, and remembered her appeal in the police station car park for him to be patient and to allow their investigation to take precedence- – the knowledge that their relationship would be unprofessional mixing with her usual sense of panic that
she was letting someone into her life. She cursed herself for refusing to deal with the strength of her feelings; she had known he liked her but had been scared that it was merely a crush on an older woman. If him choosing to come around, despite what she had said, was not enough to convince her otherwise, then what he did upstairs, so willingly and tenderly, showed she had been wrong to fear her feelings.

  Thoughts of McNeil’s sacrifice served to rouse Johnson from her regrets and focus on the immediate. She wanted revenge for all the pain and suffering this disgusting creature in front of her had caused. It mattered not that he was dead; she would derive satisfaction from repeatedly slamming her bare heel onto his skull until it was crushed beyond all recognition. The nakedness he had inflicted on her would no longer be part of his act of degradation; disrobed she would be better able to revel in her obliteration of his physical form.

  But that would have to wait.

  McNeil was all that mattered, and she would resist her primeval need for retribution in order to save him. Carefully stepping over the body to avoid slipping in the dark pool of blood that glistened in the evening light, she scouted round for her handbag; silently cursing its absence. Knowing that she was wasting precious seconds, Johnson rushed into the sitting room to retrieve the house phone from its charging point.

  Despite her line of work, this was the first time she had dialled 999 and was initially confused when her call was answered by an operator asking which service she required. Acknowledging the priority, she demanded an ambulance. When this was met with an enquiry as to the nature of the emergency, she found herself ranting about a serial killer and her boyfriend lying stabbed upstairs. Whatever she said must have worked because the calm and professional tone that had greeted her, was now alarmed but managing to inform her that a medical team had been dispatched using the address her number was linked to. Johnson was told she would need to hold the line whilst being transferred to the police.

  ‘Just fucking get them here!’ She shouted, throwing the handset down without ending the call; she needed to get back upstairs. The thought of McNeil just lying there, injured and alone, was unbearable and dizziness threatened to collapse her. She grasped the mantelpiece and tried to bring her breathing under control. As well as her vision, she could feel her sense of logic begin to restore and recognised that she would need to be able to open the front door if she didn’t want to risk having to leave McNeil again when the ambulance arrived. It was with this intention that she exited the sitting room, only to be met with the rush of air and added brightness signalling someone already had.

  Chapter Two

  There is a sound that punctuates the nothingness. Faint at first but gradually building until it becomes unmistakable. Screams. Are they his own? That would certainly account for the pain he is feeling but, as they continue, they don’t sound like him. He should open his eyes and get up but he’s afraid. Not just of whatever is making that inhuman screeching – he also senses that the pain is only going to intensify if he allows his body to fully regain consciousness. He has an overwhelming urge to give in to the temptation to slip under again, where there is no sound, no feeling – just warm, blissful oblivion. He must have; he can no longer hear anything. But, even if it were not for the physical discomfort he is still experiencing, he shouldn’t be thinking anything now.

  The decision whether to wake or sleep remains. His body is demanding that it is allowed time to rest and repair, but his mind is telling him he is in danger. He doesn’t know what from, and if it has anything to do with the owner of those screams. His mind is fractured though, with another part of it imploring him to fade away and abandon an agony that goes far beyond whatever injuries he has just sustained.

  ‘Just hold on, I’ll get help.’ It isn’t so much the words themselves that end the conflict within his immobile form, but the tremendous power and intent with which they are delivered. The part of him that warns against returning to a life of misery must be wrong because this voice conveys a love that can conquer all obstacles. He will hold on to that and wait for the assistance that will follow.

  Whether it is just moments or hours later is unclear, for time is different where he currently resides. That voice has returned but it being nearer isn’t the only difference. The desperation remains but the warmth has gone. She, for it is now undoubtedly female, is shouting about an attack. Has he been attacked? Is that why he is here? He can’t believe that she is the cause of his pain, not when she spoke to him with such passion. They must know each other; a fact confirmed by the familiarity of the voice. Is she his wife? He vaguely remembers being married but can’t identify her name or anything about her.

  ‘Just fucking get them here!’ The change in tone fully awakened Brandt. He knew exactly who it belonged to and the immediate, massive dump of adrenaline in his system opened his eyes. Ignoring the thudding in his head, he rose to his feet. He started to move in her direction but paused as he slipped and nearly lost his balance. Beneath him was an alarmingly large pool of blood and an instinctive raise of his hand to the back of his head revealed it was his. The pain from earlier returned and multiplied. He didn’t know where his knife was, and he understood that the help Johnson had promised was going to be in the form of the authorities.

  Brandt turned towards the door and flung it open. Greeted by the cool evening air, it refreshed his face and brought a welcome hit of oxygen. He banished the idea that he should stay and finish the job and stumbled onto the front pathway and out of the gate. If he could just make it to his car and get away from here, he could give his body the respite it was demanding. He had no idea of the response times in this area but if the police believed she was still in danger they would rush here as quickly as possible.

  But the risk of capture was no longer his immediate concern.

  The noise from behind caused him to look around and he staggered to the side and into a parked car. Johnson, naked except for a small pair of black panties, was flying out of her front door. The sight terrified him and there was no notion of standing his ground. There was a savagery to her features that added to the shrieking and Brandt was certain that, should she catch him, he would be torn limb from limb.

  He pushed himself upright, not noticing that it was her car that had saved him from falling, and lurched the final few metres to his own vehicle. With the distance between them closing the whole time it was only the fact he hadn’t locked his door that saved Brandt. He pulled it open as Johnson rounded the bonnet and, seeing the hatred and fury in her eyes, he swung his feet into the car before she ran into the door without slowing her pace. She bounced off it, the effect of which caused it to slam shut. Brandt immediately reached to lock it before she could start yanking on the handle. He still hadn’t retrieved the key from his pocket, but his more immediate concern was the car’s lack of central locking. He reached across to secure the passenger side but was stopped by the loud thud from his own window. He turned and looked in horror to see Johnson’s arm pulled back to make another attempt to smash the glass. Brandt could hear his own screams as a rock, clutched by her fist, slammed inches from his face. The smear of blood left from cuts on her hand stirred him into action once more. Overwhelming relief at, not only finding the key immediately upon thrusting his hand into his pocket, but also managing to pull it out and insert it into the ignition without dropping it, was abruptly ended by Johnson’s next swing disintegrating the window.

  Brandt was showered with glass an instant before her bloodied hand reached in to claw at his features. Instinctively turning his head away from the danger, he roared in pain as her nails dug at the wound from earlier. Twisting the key, he heard the familiar sound of the starter motor turning over but failing to fire, soon to be drowned out by Johnson’s screams. Her claws had turned into fists once more and she was now punching his head. The sustained shocks to his brain were causing his vision to close and Brandt knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand her fury much longer. It was only when the punches stopped that he realis
ed the engine had somehow caught and was now idling roughly. He risked turning his face to look at Johnson, whose expression revealed the dawning horror that he may escape. He slammed it into first gear, looked up and saw her throw herself on the bonnet and use the windscreen wipers to prevent herself falling off.

  The car in front was pared close to him and, without the aid of power steering, he caught the blue Fiesta as he attempted to pull out into the road. The contact wasn’t sufficient to dislodge Johnson who, not only remained on the bonnet, but was repositioning herself so she could hold on with just her left hand, freeing her right to attack the windscreen. Brandt doubted that she would be able to break through but wasn’t prepared to find out. With her fist now raised he decided against changing gear and built up more speed. With the engine bouncing off the rev limiter he slammed on the middle pedal instead. At that moment he fully intended to dislodge Johnson and then proceed to drive over her but what his pikey piece of shit car gave with one hand by starting, it took with the other. The unnerving but now familiar sensation of the uneven brakes making the car lurch to the right as the wheels locked, did cause Johnson to be thrown from the vehicle but across to the other side of the road. Now stationary, Brandt would have to back up if he was going to find the angle necessary to hit her. As he automatically checked his rear-view mirror before putting the car in reverse, he could see the blue of flashing lights in the murky gloom of dusk behind him. Even the few seconds it would take to complete his manoeuvre might be enough for him to be spotted.

  Reluctantly placing the lever back in first, he resisted the temptation to see if he might manage enough steering lock to get her, knowing that a car pitching onto the other side of the road would be far more noticeable and, notwithstanding the immediate danger that would place him in, the last thing he wanted was to point out where Johnson lay.