by Graham Smith
The Kindred Killers
Graham Smith
Contents
Praise For Watching The Bodies
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
A Note from Bloodhound Books:
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2017 Graham Smith
The right of Graham Smith to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.
Martin Luther King
To my son, Daniel. May he never grow up in a world where hate triumphs love and the acceptance of cultural differences
Praise For Watching The Bodies
Praise for Graham Smith’s Watching The Bodies , the first book in the Jake Boulder series.
“Watching the Bodies is a storming addition to the action thriller genre, and Jake Boulder a new tough guy to root for. Be under no illusion, Boulder is no Jack Reacher or Joe Hunter clone m- He is his own man and readers will delight in getting to know a hero who is as sharp with his wits, and his tongue, as he is with his fists.” Matt Hilton – Bestselling author of the Joe Hunter thrillers
“If you are looking for a high-octane, action-packed, crime thriller that will leave you begging…yes BEGGING for more, then look no further!” Noelle Holten – Crime Book Junkie
“Fast paced, suspenseful, action-packed and led by a stellar brooding protagonist (Jake Boulder), I found myself unable to put this novel down.” Samantha Ellen – Clues and Reviews
“A must-read page-turner that will compel you to read way beyond your bedtime. An awesome start to a new series and all I can say is roll on book two.” Sharon Bairden – Chapter In My Life
“This is a dark and suspenseful read that just drew me in and placed me slap bang in the thick of things. With a thrilling serial killer and a smouldering Boulder, there is definitely something for everyone who loves a good crime thriller.” Sarah Hardy – By the Letter Book Reviews
“Graham Smith just knocked me off my feet and onto my ass with this super book that completely took me by surprise. What a brilliant talent he is.” Susan Hampson – Books From Dusk Til Dawn
“A belter of a start to a series. High-stakes cat and mouse games with a twisted killer and a really likeable protagonist. Definitely one to add to your TBR if you enjoy fast-paced action with plenty of twists and turns!” Kate Moloney – Bibliophile Book Club
“I do love a good serial killer thriller and thankfully this is a brilliant example.” Joanne Robertson – My Chestnut Reading Tree
“The tough guy versus the matriarch makes for a thought-provoking dynamic and gave the reader something different to digest. An enjoyable book and a great start to a new series.” Sarah Ward – Crimepieces & Author of In Bitter Chill
“This is an extremely clever story. Well written with a killer that is one of the smartest and most twisted I’ve met.” Sarah Kenny – The Great British Book Off
“This book had just what I needed at the time, a book that had action but also had a lot of crime solving in it. I am looking forward to more of Jake Boulder and to what happens next.” Sean Talbot – Sean’s Book Reviews
“Just what did I think of this book? Well I loved it! It’s certainly a 5 star read for me.” Vicki Wilkson – I Love Reading
“With unwavering tension, fast-paced action, a creepy killer, murders galore and a great protagonist to boot, this book kept me hooked and interested from start to finish. Short chapters, many of which end in cliffhangers, kept me entertained and on my toes throughout. The breath-taking finale made me gasp…literally.” Joseph Calleja – Relax and Read Book Reviews
“I have always been a sucker for a serial killer story and in Watching the Bodies, I have found one of the best serial killer tales that I have read for a long, long time. I loved this.” Gordon Mcghie – Grab This Book
“It’s one of the best serial killer thrillers I have read in a LONG time. I couldn’t stop turning the pages and devoured this book in two short days. If this is what Graham Smith has in store for us with this new series, then consider me hooked. I can’t wait to read more!” Emma Welton – Damppebbles Book Blog
“I love, love, LOVED this book! I’ve always been a fan of serial killer novels and this one absolutely nailed it.” Ellen Devenport – Bibliophile Book Club
“The end of the book was so tense and fast-paced I couldn’t get enough of it. I was dying to see how everything turned out and I was not disappointed.” Danielle Ryan – The Blonde Likes Books
“Watching the Bodies is packed with intrigue. The pace is there from the off with short chapters and the race against time to find ‘The Watcher’.” Claire Knight – Crime Book Junkie
“This was a clever, well-written thriller that introduced a new lead character that I’m interested to see more of. If you enjoy thrillers that have a structured feel and f
eature serial killers, you’ll want to pick up Watching the Bodies immediately.” Chelsea Humphreys – The Suspense is Thrilling Me
“Wow! An extraordinary thriller! I loved the fast-paced action in this book and the way Jake Boulder works with the police.” Caroline Vincent – Bits About Books
“Smith inserts chapters from the killer’s point of view and those never fail to chill me to the bone. I’m very impressed by the direction this series seems to be heading and I can’t wait for book two.” Amy Sullivan – Novelgossip
“There is enough angst, grit, and humanity to Boulder that makes him so likeable, and you really are on his side hoping he catches the killer.” Alexina Golding – Bookstormer
Watching the Bodies is a fast-paced thriller with a body count that increases by the page so the reader wonders just who will be next. It is extremely well plotted with a satisfying conclusion that leaves the heart racing.” Linda Hill – Linda’s Book Bag
“Watching the Bodies is a fast-paced, riveting page-turner that is incredibly difficult to put down. A fantastic and promising start to a new crime series.” Abbie Rutherford – Bloomin’ Brilliant Books
1
I wake feeling like an NFL tackle dummy after a rigorous training session. Every muscle in my body aches and there appears to be an orchestra using the inside of my head as a rehearsal space. I don’t know much about orchestras but I can tell the one in my head isn’t the New York Philharmonic.
After a moment of rubbing at what feels like dried blood, I manage to force an eye open – only to wish I hadn’t. I’m in a room I don’t recognise. My first guess is that it’s a motel room. I can’t be bothered to make a second one.
There’s a woman next to me and her face is covered with fresh bruises. A trickle of red has congealed on her top lip and there’s no way she was born with a nose shaped like that.
Beyond her I see the detritus of passion. Clothes lie in a tangled heap on a chair. A bra hangs from the handle of a closet and, more telling, an open condom wrapper sits atop the bedside table.
The woman beside me is a stranger. While it’s not unusual for me to pick someone up for the night, as a rule of thumb, I tend to remember their name the next day. Or at least their face.
I sure as hell remember their existence. All I know about this woman is she’s not the one I’m supposed to be dating.
None of that matters. What’s more worrying is the mess her face is in.
Who’s been beating on her? Was it me? Was I so out of it that I raised my hand to her?
Another more worrying thought enters my head.
Is she still alive?
I put my fingers to her throat.
There’s a pulse. Slow, regular and steady. Just the way it should be with a sleeping person. A wave of relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived. I see raw and bruised knuckles when I draw back my hand. A check of the other hand finds the same.
If the marks on her face are my doing, I’ll never be able to look at myself in a mirror again. It may be a cliché, but it doesn’t stop me feeling like a low life. I’ve never liked men who beat women and the thought I may have become one is abhorrent.
I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that I had been fighting and gotten laid last night. What I need to do now is find out in which order and with whom.
A spear of agony runs through my body as I swing my feet to the floor. It’s bad but not unbearable. Or unfamiliar. As a doorman, I’m used to getting into fights. It’s a long time since I lost one, but when two men go toe-to-toe, more often than not, both will suffer.
I take a look around the room and confirm I’m in a motel. The bare threads in the carpet tell me it’s not one of the most expensive motels I’ve ever stayed in.
The woman groans in her sleep, rubs an eye and flops her arm onto the top of the sheet. I see needle marks. Lots of them. I take a closer look at her face and the body below it. She might be draped in a sheet, but I can see that she’s so thin she almost appears emaciated. The unbruised parts of her face are layered in thick makeup and there’s a lankness about her hair.
Her appearance makes me wonder if she hires the room by the hour. My next thought is one of relief as I remember the condom wrapper. I may have been drunk enough to sleep with a drug-addled hooker, but at least one of us had the sense to use protection.
I totter into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Its pressure is feeble at best and never gets above lukewarm, but the water combined with slow movements does enough to restore a degree of suppleness to aching limbs.
When I return to the bedroom, the woman is sitting with her back resting against the headboard. Her head is held in shaking hands. I pull on my pants and look for my shirt.
‘Thanks for last night.’ Her voice is thin. I’m unsure whether she means it or not. She may be trying to keep me sweet; fearful of me and my intentions.
I look at the condom wrapper. It’s not the same brand as the ones in my wallet, but that means nothing when I’ve been drinking. It could be one she’s provided – in which case the sex was consensual after the fighting, and everything will be cool.
If it’s one I’ve bought in a drunken stupor, there’s a chance the marks on her face are my doing. A worse thought hits me, but it’s not one I’m prepared to give brain space.
‘What do you mean?’ I keep my tone even and my posture unthreatening.
She looks at me with a bloodshot eye; the other is swollen to a slit. ‘Don’t you remember?’
I shake my head. It’s a serious mistake. The movement knocks the orchestra further out of tune and makes my neck feel as if my head is being pulled off.
She gives a tight grin. ‘You saved me from a beating.’ A shrug. ‘Well, a worse beating.’
‘Did I?’ I hear the relief in my voice. I didn’t believe I’d been the one who hit her but, not being able to remember anything about last night, I haven’t been able to rule it out.
I sit on the edge of the bed and look at her. ‘I’m sorry, but I was wasted last night. I don’t remember anything.’
‘You sure were, honey.’ There’s a hint of southern drawl to her accent. ‘Didn’t stop you kickin’ Benji’s ass though.’
‘Was that who did that?’ I point at her face.
‘Yeah.’
I rub my bruised face and body. Whoever this Benji was he either put up a good fight, or I was so drunk he managed to land a few blows of his own. It doesn’t surprise me that I stepped in to protect a strange woman. I’ve never approved of men who hit women and the trace of MacDonald blood in my veins doesn’t need much provocation.
That’s the trouble with my drinking. I don’t do it very often, but when I do I drink so much I lose all memory. I’m not even sure where I am.
‘Where are we?’ I remember driving into a town called Hayden, although I’m not sure it was yesterday.
Her face shows understanding and a little sorrow at the blankness of my memory.
‘We’re in Steamboat Springs. It’s Wednesday, and after you’d kicked Benji’s ass you carried on drinkin’. By the time you were on your second bourbon, he’d came back with his buddies.’
This information gives me some reassurance. I’d left home on Sunday night, so there are only two days unaccounted for. Steamboat Springs is about three hours east of Casperton, or two if I’m driving. My injuries are the result of fighting a gang rather than an individual. I can accept that. There’s no shame in being beaten up by a gang.
Still, there’s always pride. ‘Did I take any of them down before they got me?’
‘They didn’t get you. You kicked all their asses.’ She looks at me with a mixture of awe and respect. ‘There was six of them. Ain’t never seen anyone fight like you before. Every time they knocked you down you got back up. When you knocked them down they stayed where they was.’
I should ask why Benji had been hitting her, but I don’t want to get myself embroiled in her life. Whatever happened between us last night was an isolated inc
ident; I’ll return to Casperton and she’ll carry on with her life. If she has any sense, she’ll keep away from Benji.
‘You saved me last night. If it hadn’t been for you, Benji woulda used his knife on me.’ Her head dips. ‘Nobody’d pay for a hooker with a ruined face.’
She doesn’t need to continue; the holes in her arms explain why she’s hooking. I can’t help my eyes straying to the condom wrapper.
Her eyes follow mine. ‘You passed out before I could say thank you.’ She climbs out of the bed and stands naked before me. ‘I still want to say it.’
I’m saved from having to decline her offer by a hammering at the door. As I don’t even know where I am, it can only be bad news. I pull on my boots as the banging continues.
The noise abates and a familiar voice rings out. ‘Jake! It’s me. Get your shit together and get out here. Now!’
The voice belongs to my best friend and sometimes employer, Alfonse Devereaux.
I push away thoughts of how he found me and concentrate instead on the key points of his four sentences: he’s sworn – something he only does when he’s under great stress or is emotional; he’s come to find me, and therefore needs me. As a rule, when I have one of my drinking binges, he leaves me to my own devices or comes to retrieve me when I call him.
The woman pulls the sheet back over herself. ‘By the way, I’m Leigh.’
There’s no point in pretending I’ve remembered her name. ‘I’m Jake Boulder. If Benji bothers you again call me.’ I pass her a card – unsure whether to kiss, hug or shake hands with her. In the end, I do none.
I open the door to be confronted with Alfonse’s anxiety-creased face.
‘C’mon. I need your help and I need it now.’
2
Alfonse doesn’t say another word until we’re travelling west on the Forty. He hands me deodorant, breath mints and a scowl in one movement. When he does speak his voice is filled with urgency and worry.
