by Nic Roberts
“Mum, I—” she couldn’t finish the statement before movement happened up ahead.
“Olivia!” Lawrence called out from somewhere amongst the trees.
“Mum, I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go,” Olivia said quickly before hanging up. She felt a sting of guilt as she pushed her phone back into her coat pocket. She’d make it up to her mother later, but for now...
“Coming, Lawrence!” she shouted, quickening her pace in the direction of her partner’s voice.
Before long, Dean appeared in the narrow beam of her flashlight. He was clearly panting, his chest heaving up and down, and his eyes looked like something out of a horror film. Exhaustion had made them bloodshot, and whatever he’d just seen had made him open them wide. Before he could even speak, Olivia’s heart dropped.
“It’s another body,” he gasped out, blinking furiously as he tried to shield his eyes from the flashlight.
Fuck.
14
Somehow, the killer had managed to get a car two kilometres deep into the forest. In the passenger’s seat sat their newest victim, his blood barely congealed.
The man appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. They couldn’t get much from his face—it was crumpled in just like Rosie Whitford’s had been—but the crown of his head was clear enough that they could see a mat of salt and pepper hair atop his head.
And Just like Rosie, his chest was carved open, several gaping holes indicating the absence of organs. Clutched in his hand was her phone, still on and with incoming notifications from various people checking in to make sure she was okay. Every few minutes, it lit back up.
“Fuck,” Olivia exhaled as she and Lawrence studied the body. SOCOs were on their way after sealing up Rosie’s flat for a later date. Collins had responded to the call that they’d found another body, and even he seemed to lose his composure for a minute. Now, their uniformed backup was waiting at the main entrance of the forest to help lead the team to the site once they arrived while Olivia and Lawrence looked over the scene.
“So, we’ve got one more until he officially becomes a serial killer,” Dean muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
“That’s of course assuming these are his first two murders,” Olivia agreed, pointing her flashlight throughout the rest of the car’s interior. “He seems a bit confident to just be on kill number two.”
“I won’t argue with that,” her partner grimaced.
Olivia wanted to congratulate him on handling this scene much better than the hotel, but she wasn’t sure it would be helpful in the moment.
“We shouldn’t interfere with anything too much,” she offered. “How do you feel about a stroll around the perimeter? We can search for anything else in the surrounding area and bounce ideas without having to look at…” She trailed off.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Dean replied, giving Olivia a look between a smile and a grimace. The two peeled away from the car and started canvassing the surrounding ground and trees.
“He’s changed so much since Rosie’s death,” Liv spoke after only a moment of walking. “Both victims are incredibly different. I haven’t heard of many violent killers who don’t differentiate between genders; usually, they have some sort of preference,”
Lawrence nodded. The soft dirt shifted underfoot.
“Not only that,” he suggested, “but usually there’s a pattern to the location of the murder. A hotel and a forest are two entirely different locations to kill.” Lawrence spoke matter-of-factly, but Olivia could hear the tremble in his voice.
“You’re absolutely right,” she agreed. “A forest feels much more exposed than a hotel room, although you probably wouldn’t have to worry about volume as much.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Lawrence interjected. “Rosie’s murder was difficult, blitzing her and attacking her before she had a chance to put up much of a fight. But this guy’s murder?” He shook his head. “How do you cut open a man inside a crammed hatchback?”
“It would be difficult to overpower him, absolutely,” Olivia mused. A branch snapped behind the pair, causing them both to whip their heads and flashlights around just in time to spot a mouse scamper off into the darkness.
“Fuck, that freaked me out,” Lawrence swore under his breath.
“You and me both,” Olivia agreed, her voice shaky. “This lack of sleep is fucking with my head.”
“Well, let’s take some time to sleep in tomorrow, yeah?” Dean offered. “For our own sanity.”
Olivia could barely see her partner in the darkness, but she grinned at him, nonetheless.
“Yeah,” she agreed, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to sleep properly until after they caught the killer—and probably not even then.
“Wishful thinking?” Lawrence declared, reading Olivia’s thoughts as if they were his own.
“You said it,” Olivia huffed. They both laughed a bit before letting the silence of the night envelop them, nothing but clouds of their breath moving in sight.
“Right,” Lawrence softly redirected. “So, a killer who doesn’t care about his victim’s gender, age, or where he kills. What does he care about then?”
Good question.
“Annihilating them. Consuming them. Plus, there was that weird thing about pairings,” Olivia remembered. “What if he feels self-conscious about his social class? It could explain the remarking on how he pairs their organs.”
“And why he has his intense masculine alter ego,” Lawrence agreed. “That Craigslist ad was all about domination. It almost felt like overkill to me.”
“I wonder if he and our most recent victim had sex,” Olivia observed. “That’ll be another factor to look at—if there’s a sexual component or if that was just the easiest way to lure Rosie out.” They’d managed to circle back to the car, facing the boot.
“Agreed,” Lawrence hummed. “Plus, one more thing that’s been nagging at me.”
“What’s that?” Olivia asked, pointing her flashlight to see if there was anything else they had missed.
“It feels like he knows the play by play of our forensic team,” he responded, voice kept low so only she would hear. “He obviously went to Rosie’s apartment while we were still working to ID her. Then, he left her phone with victim number two, recently charged at that. It’s almost like he’s trying to leave breadcrumbs or something…”
“He’s trying to dictate how we follow him,” Olivia noted. “Victim number two was obviously murdered today; he waited until he felt like we were close.” She hated that already she was referring to the victims by the order in which they’d been killed. It felt so clinical, so inhuman. But what else was she supposed to call their nameless victim?
“Olivia.” Lawrence’s tone had gotten serious. “What if he’s involved at Newquay? The station?”
The question felt like an explosion going off in Olivia’s chest. Of course, she knew that members of law enforcement had a decent chance of being involved in violent crimes. Of course, she knew that the kind of sophistication of this crime scene could mean the killer had an intimate knowledge as to how the police operated. But the thought that someone at the station could do something so depraved, so monstrous? It dizzied her with confusion.
As though on cue, flashlights and voices started to come from the path. Olivia glanced quickly to Lawrence.
“Let’s keep this between you and me for now,” she whispered, to which Dean adamantly nodded.
“This way!” Liv called out, stepping out from behind the car. “Our victim’s in the passenger seat.”
Collins emerged from the crew first, his face grim.
“I want this fucker found. Pronto,” he ordered as he surveyed the scene.
“I think our best lead is going to be ID-ing our victim,” Lawrence interjected, cautiously stepping forward.
Collins looked him up and down.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Because Rosie led us to this victim, sir
,” Dean answered. “And it was pretty obvious that our killer spent at least an afternoon at her flat. Probably even charging her phone. If we can ID this victim before the killer expects, maybe we can catch him as he takes his time at this man’s home.”
Olivia let her eyes close as her partner spoke, the pain that the killer already inflicted on so many people washing over her. The murders themselves were gruesome; the way he stripped these people of their identity after the fact was vicious, a different kind of sadism than what she’d seen before.
“I hear your logic.” Collins sighed as the SOCOs started to set up their equipment. “I also need you two fresh for this case. I can see now it’s going to be a long one.”
Olivia and Dean looked at each other, Liv seeing the pure exhaustion written across her partner’s face as their boss spoke.
“So go home. Really home, not back to the station,” he ordered. “I expect you both to take at least eight hours to try and sleep before you even think about coming back in. I’ll call the shots until you’re back and let you know if there’s anything urgent. DC’s Epson and Harris will keep things going.”
Olivia thought about protesting, but one look from her boss silenced the thought before it could form in her throat.
“Yes, sir,” she muttered, and although the thought of taking the luxury of eight hours at home while the killer ran loose felt selfish, she was also grateful that she and Lawrence would have more time in the car to talk about the possibility that the killer was part of the Devon and Cornwall Police Constabulary.
“Well, Dean?” Collins asked, studying his face.
After a reluctant pause, he nodded.
“Understood, sir,” he agreed. “Come on, Liv,” he called out, already trudging back toward the car. “Let’s get going.”
15
Olivia somehow managed to sleep for the whole eight hours, although her dreams were plagued by images of eyeless men and heartless women. Even Alex made an appearance at one point, asking Olivia to catch up to him. She had run after him like she ran on the beach, but her feet quickly lost footing to quicksand, the waves crashing over her until she was drowning, drowning in a sea of organ-less bodies.
It was a change of pace from her nightmares of Rhys, and she couldn’t decide which images she’d rather be haunted by as she got herself ready for the day. She missed Earnest, but she also didn’t want to open a can of worms by involving her mother in her downtime.
Lawrence picked her up at 9 a.m., also looking surprisingly refreshed.
“How did you sleep?” Olivia asked as she climbed into the car.
“Like a baby,” he answered. “Except the nightmares were worse than usual.” He revved the engine as he pulled away from the curb.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” She sighed, looking out at the passing scenery. “Still, I feel refreshed, and I feel like I can actually think now, which I couldn’t say last night.”
“Agreed,” Lawrence nodded. “Speaking of which…”
“We should talk more about the theory that our killer is involved at Newquay,” Olivia noted.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Lawrence frowned, glancing to his partner before returning his eyes to the road. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think we can rule it out. Not at this stage.”
“You’re right,” Olivia quipped, although she could feel a lump forming in her throat even as she spoke her thoughts out loud. “So, I guess now the question becomes, who do we trust?”
“I think we should tell Clara,” Lawrence blurted out. It earned him an eyebrow raise from Olivia, but she nodded her head.
“No, you’re right,” she agreed. “I mean, she’s not amazing at keeping secrets long-term, but I think she’d be an important asset.”
“Plus, she’s a woman,” Lawrence added. “And I think we’ve almost definitely determined that the killer is a man.”
“You’re right about that,” Olivia concurred, tracing her bottom lip with her pinkie finger. “Anyone else?”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable keeping the information from Collins,” Lawrence responded, navigating a junction.
“You’re right again. Do you think we should we eliminate him as a suspect before we go to him with our theory?” Olivia asked, side eyeing her partner.
“You really think Collins could do something like that?” Lawrence asked, disbelief in his voice. “I know he’d earned his nickname, Grumps, but butchering people? Nah.”
“After this past week, I’m not sure what I believe,” Olivia shot back.
“Good point.” Lawrence exhaled deeply and flexed his arms against the steering wheel. “My guess is it’ll be easy enough to work through his movements yesterday. So long as he’s accounted for, he couldn’t have killed our latest victim.”
“We can get Clara to start us off with that,” Olivia agreed. “Also, I don’t want to do it yet, but if we need more backup, I think we should bring PC Hershel into the fold.”
A quiet huff came from Lawrence.
“You think?”
“She’s very capable and astute, plus—like you said—being a woman eliminates her from the suspect pool,” Olivia explained, slightly affronted that Lawrence acted so sceptical. “She knows a lot more of the police constables than we do; it could be helpful to have her perspective.”
“Right. No, you’re right,” Lawrence replied. “It makes sense. We’re nearly there. Anything else we need to talk about in the privacy of the car?”
“Not that I can think of.”
A reminder that Olivia had promised to speak to her partner if she needed to about the whole Alex debacle gently pressed itself into her awareness. She let it go. Another day she could unpack all of the emotions of thinking her lost brother had been found, but first and foremost, she needed to stay sharp on the case.
Even if Alex had haunted her dreams.
* * *
“Debrief us on the crime scene,” Lawrence asked as he entered the bullpen. Tim had taken a sick day, so PC Hershel greeted the detectives as they came in for their morning check-in.
“Our male victim was found inside an unidentified car at 12:47 a.m. last night,” she started, earning a hurried nod from both detectives as they set down their belongings. “We’re working on tracing the car as well as finding any identifying features that could help us figure out who this man is.”
Lawrence and Olivia both had files thrust into their hands, which they opened and began perusing.
“How many organs?” Olivia asked, looking up from the file at the young Constable.
“Four. Heart, kidney, gallbladder, and lung.”
Lawrence wrinkled his nose.
“What would someone want with a gallbladder?” he contemplated, shaking his head before looking at the file again.
“Any promising leads from the SOCOs?” Olivia pressed on.
“Nothing as of yet, but they’ll keep working on it,” PC Hershel responded. “Right now, their best hope is identifying the car.”
“So, what do we have to work on from the new crime scene?” Lawrence asked; Olivia could hear the exasperation in his voice.
“Honestly, sir? Your best bet right now while Forensics and the medical examiner scour for details is to look at victimology.” As soon as Hershel had said it, her eyes widened, and she bit her lips together.
“I’m so sor—” she started.
“Don’t apologise, Diana,” Lawrence cut her off. “You’ve got good instincts. I’d rather hear them then have you bottle them up.”
PC Hershel stood there for a moment, mouth slightly agape.
“Understood, sir,” she replied, bouncing on her heels.
“Thank you,” Olivia smiled, doing her best to encourage the officer, who nodded and excused herself before retreating further into the bullpen.
“Remember our objective,” Olivia whispered under her breath to Lawrence. He cleared his throat before making his way over to the tech analyst’s temporary headquarters.
“Welcome, you two!” she declared, opening the door wider to allow them entry. “I’ve started taping my eyes open so I don’t have nightmares. How are you doing?” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and Olivia did her best not to grin at her friend’s obvious discomfort.
“We really appreciate you being on-scene last night,” she offered, making sure to close the door discretely behind them as they entered. “You’re absolutely getting that drink when we catch this bastard.”
“Ah-ah,” Clara hummed. “If my memory serves me correctly, you said several drinks. Back me up, Wonder Boy.”
“Who gave you permission to call me Wonder Boy?” Lawrence demanded, glancing between the two women in awe and trying hard to keep his smile at bay.
“Perks of the job,” Clara answered with a laugh. “Anyway, what can I do for you two detectives so fine, and lovely, and insightful, and strangely good at understanding serial killers?” She trailed off.
Olivia glanced to Lawrence, who met her eyes with his steady brown ones.
“Oh, so it’s that kind of serious,” the tech analyst spoke, interrupting the moment of pause.
“Clara,” Lawrence started. “I need to know that you can keep a secret.”
She laughed at that—a deep, throaty one.
“Me and secrets have a difficult relationship, mon chérie,” she giggled. “So, it depends on entirely what kind of secret we’re talking about. Is this classified top secret stuff, or you two accidentally once drunkenly fu—”
“Clara!” Olivia exclaimed, blood rushing to her cheeks. The insinuation that she and Dean were in any way involved shot ice through her veins. “No!”
“Not at all that kind of secret,” Lawrence clarified with an uncomfortable cough.
Olivia shook her head.
Clara squinted her eyes and looked between them.
“Sorry, I didn’t think it was the case but figured I should give it a stab in the dark just in case I was right.” The sheepish grin on her face made it difficult to stay embarrassed at her insinuation.
