Cass smiled, turned and left.
Charlie made her way over. ‘I’ve put a couple of files on your desk to glance at. Doesn’t look like anything and I’ll take care of them once you’ve had a read. You also had a message to ring Emily Grieves. She’s the daughter of the old guy from the cave. Local officers have done the death inform but she’s asking to speak with whoever is heading up the investigation.’
‘No problems. Thanks, Charlie,’ said Alex, grabbing the Post-it with her info on. ‘I’ll call her now.’
He had a quick glance over the file before he punched in her number. It listed Emily as estranged from her father.
The call finally cut to voicemail and he left her a message.
First job done, he turned his attention to the files, and it wasn’t long before he was returning them to Charlie.
‘Consider them looked at and delegated,’ he said with a grin as he handed them over. He took in her healthy glow, the look of contentment.
‘Everything OK, boss?’ she asked, a little uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze.
‘I’m fine. Are you?’ He gave her a pointed look.
Her cheeks flushed as she said, ‘I’m pregnant. Was going to tell you later today after the morning rush.’
Alex flashed her a wide smile, ignoring the sudden pang of something he didn’t quite grasp. ‘That’s great. Congratulations. I’m between meetings from about 1 p.m. We’ll have a sit down then – that OK with you?’
She nodded and turned back to the files as Alex walked back to his desk just as his mobile started ringing.
‘McKay,’
‘DCI McKay? This is Emily Grieves.’
By the time Alex hung up the phone with Emily, he felt he knew much more about the old man. Albert had turned to drink after losing his son in a motorcycle accident – yet another reason to sell the old Triumph from his garage. In time, Albert’s wife, Jean, Emily’s mum, had lost patience and ordered him out and he had eventually become homeless. Emily had received intermittent phone calls through the years, and she always helped out because he was her father after all. She hadn’t heard from her father in eighteen months and had sounded resigned to the fact he would end up dead.
Her final words to him were, ‘Please find whoever killed my father, DCI McKay. Whatever his faults, he didn’t deserve to die like that.’ Alex had promised to do everything in his power to do just that.
There was only once he had made an actual promise to find the person responsible. And that hadn’t gone well. Now he only ever promised to do his best.
Vacant Lot, Seaburn, Sunderland – 27th October
He watched Scott walk into McDonald’s for his late shift. For a moment he almost felt for him – working a Saturday night was never fun. Especially somewhere like McDonalds – the local kids loved nothing better than to torment the staff when they’d had a skinful of whatever cheap cider they’d coerced a well-meaning stranger to buy for them.
But then Scott wouldn’t really see Sunday so that wouldn’t be fun either.
Everything was in place. It would happen ahead of schedule, but he was ready. Nothing would stop the show tonight. He knew Scott was scheduled to be at work until 1 a.m. He turned the car around and left the car park.
It was time to get everything prepared.
He stopped at his unit to pick up the plywood box and his toolbox. He’d been out the night before and laid white plastic across the fence facing the promenade.
The electrics to the arcade next door had been bypassed and were ready to go. The ketamine was on stand-by – the needle prepped with a mild dose. He didn’t really want to knock Scott out, but it would make him much more manageable, so for now, it was a necessity.
He smiled grimly to himself. Doing what he did for the police made it easy for him to gain access to all the restricted areas. Taking a few vials from the kennels years before when access had been easier was simple. They had been in his kit ever since.
The only thing left to do was to lure the unsuspecting youth to the promenade when he finished his shift.
His smile faded. This would be tricky. He knew the offer of money wouldn’t lure Scott, not now he had seen the error of his ways. He had to at least get him in the car.
Maybe Kourtney could help with that. A different sedative would be needed if he wanted the effects to last long enough, but it would be interesting to see her reaction when she woke and saw her beloved, dead in front of her.
He nodded – he’d made his decision. He headed to the alley at the rear of the arcades, unlocked the new padlock he put on the old gate, and drove inside.
The rear gates were solid wood, albeit somewhat faded but still intact and able to obscure view. With the front covered too the only thing he had to worry about was making too much noise.
He didn’t want to bring attention to himself, not when he had been so careful.
Quietly he set the box in the centre of the vacant lot, checked and double checked the wire bypass, and removed a syringe and vial from his toolbox. He carefully measured the small dose of ketamine, replaced the vial, and took out the Phenobarbital. He knew this had longer lasting, deeper sedative effects and would ensure Kourtney wouldn’t wake until he wanted her to. Careful not to mix up the syringes, he capped them both and placed one in each pocket.
He felt the excitement settle in the base of his stomach. This would be the one. The one he had been searching for. This would give him the satisfaction he sought.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Vacant Lot, Seaburn, Sunderland – 28 October
Scott couldn’t move.
He remembered being picked up by John. He remembered seeing Kourtney unconscious in the back of the car and feeling a sense of dread as he felt a prick in the back of his neck. He’d stumbled against the car as his muscles decided they didn’t want to work with whatever was running through his blood stream.
He felt like his head was floating outside of his body, looking down on him. He hardly registered the tear rolling from his swollen eye and down his cheek as John had bundled him into the car. And now here he was. His hands and feet bound and tape across his mouth, inside some kind of box.
Scott was scared. More afraid that he had ever been. He could taste the fear in his mouth, and almost gagged from the sensation. He tried to scream but the tape allowed a muffled grunt to escape. He could smell the sea. But it was pitch-black and he couldn’t see anything except the dull glow of street lights ahead. He listened and heard the soft whooshing noise of waves hitting the sand, and the sounds of scuffling behind him.
Where’s Kourt? I bet he has her. What does he want? I want my dad.
Another tear crept out of the corner of his eye as John appeared in front of him.
‘It’s time,’ said John quietly.
Scott felt his breath catch in his throat, his virtually silent screams going unheard in the still of the night as John calmly applied the crocodile clips to Scott’s bare skin and stepped back, smiling eerily at him in the dull glow of the moon.
He stood back from the coffin, shaking his head at Scott as he tried to struggle against the bonds that held him immobile.
He felt adrenaline surge through his veins. This feeling, he acknowledged to himself, was what he was searching for. This one would be as good as the first time. It had to be.
The seafront was silent – people all tucked up in their beds away from the chill, fast asleep in preparation for work the next day. And if they weren’t, they couldn’t see through the heavy-duty plastic at the front gates.
He’d felt a rush as he stared into Scott’s terrified eyes and clipped the jagged-edged clips to the exposed skin on the youth’s chest.
Then he frowned to himself. He couldn’t see Scott’s expression if he was by the electric box flicking the switch on the current. And he so wanted to see the boy’s eyes in his final moment.
He shook his head and took the clips from Scott’s chest before setting them down on the floor. With a growi
ng sense of anticipation, he attached the other ends to the electric box.
Scott was crying now, muffled sobs and bubbles of snot escaping through his nostrils, and his eyes widening in terror.
He finally understood what was happening.
He stood before Scott, cocking his head and watching for a moment, allowing the feelings of control to wash over him.
Scott was still trying to struggle, minimal movement allowed inside the box even without the effects of the ketamine and the ropes holding him fast.
Now it was time.
Taking care to ensure he was holding the rubber ended sections of the clips, he applied one to Scott’s chest. As he leant in he smiled, applied the second and stood back to watch as Scott’s body writhed and convulsed inside the box. The smell of charring wood and burnt flesh filled the air, and he watched Scott’s eyes turn glassy as his body succumbed to the volts coursing through his veins.
It hadn’t taken long.
He let the electricity surge for a few minutes longer, a deep frown now marring his features.
It wasn’t the same. Why wasn’t it the same?
Slowly he swallowed the bubble of anger. He would think about it later. Right now, he had Kourtney to remove from his car and a clean-up to do.
Kourtney felt her head pound as she struggled to open her eyes. Stones were digging into her face, and for a moment she wondered just how drunk she ‘d have to be to fall asleep on a pavement. She groaned loudly as she opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision.
Everything was blurred and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. She lifted her head, swallowing hard as a wave of dizziness hit her. As bile rose into her throat, she swallowed again, but it proved too much, and as she pulled herself up onto her hands, her stomach emptied the remnants of her last meal on the floor in front of her.
The smell didn’t help. It was like someone had overdone the BBQ meat and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. Who on earth had a BBQ in October? Her blurred thoughts were jumbling together, and she was confused.
She could see the sea through a set of wrought-iron gates, and she shivered as her body registered the cold. How had she got there? The last thing she remembered was, something in her memory, just out of reach. Her hand flew to her neck as she recalled a sharp pain and the sensation of being lifted. Her neck felt tender and she breathed deeply, trying not to panic.
As her senses returned the smell got stronger. What the hell was it?
Pulling herself to her knees, she fought the second wave of nausea and turned to glance behind her.
Her eyes widened as she struggled to understand what was in front of her.
The wooden box was charred in places, and it looked kind of like a coffin. Her eyes moved upwards, pausing to read the inscription below a hole that had been cut in the door.
Here lies Scott Anderson. He deserved to die. 28th October.
She felt her throat constrict. This was some kind of sick joke. Her eyes settled on what was visible through the hole.
The smell grew stronger still as she registered Scott’s face, his features distorted and mottled, and a small dribble of blood drying underneath his mouth and nose. Kourtney felt a scream rise in her throat, quickly blocked by bile as she threw up again, her body heaving hard through her mangled sobs.
When the dry heaving stopped, she looked up again, tears streaking her face.
She fell forward on her hands, her body collapsing under her, and she screamed.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Vacant Lot, Seaburn, Sunderland – 28 October
‘Another one, Alex? Is it a full moon or something?’ said Cass as they headed for their respective vehicles.
The call had come in seconds before, the first officer on scene almost choking on his words as he made the request for assistance.
The promenade was only minutes from the station, and when they arrived it looked like everyone and their dog was out for a bit of rubbernecking. Alex took charge, giving orders to extend the outer cordon and push people back. It wouldn’t be long before the press arrived, and they needed the scene secured.
Fred arrived next, grabbed some tarps from his van, and silently tied them onto the fence at the front of the lot. He and Cass pulled on white suits and boot covers, snapped on double pairs of purple gloves, grabbed their kits and went through the gate.
Cass spotted a kid climbing the gate at the back and yelled a warning. ‘Oi, get down from there. You’re contaminating a crime scene.’
The youngster dropped out of view, and Fred went to warn Alex to cordon the alley at the back also. He grabbed the tent from his van, and carried it into the lot, with Alex close behind.
Cass had halted in front of the coffin, and as Alex and Fred joined her, they too were stopped in their tracks by the gruesome sight.
‘What on earth possesses someone to do this to another human being?’ whispered Cass.
‘I don’t know,’ said Alex. ‘His girlfriend was a witness; it looks like she was drugged and woke up to this sight. She’s been taken to hospital by one of my team. Probably be a while before she can tell us anything though. She’s in shock. Can I leave you to process the scene? I need to contact the pathologist and speak with the guys outside.’
Cass looked up at him and nodded her agreement.
‘You photographing? I’ll put the markers down,’ said Fred from beside her.
‘Yeah, just let me ring Jason though and let him know. Think he might want to come down for this one.’
Cass made the call quickly, then began her visual examination. She immediately noted a partial footwear mark in the soil below the tampered electric box. Carefully studying the ground below her feet as she walked, she made her way over to the coffin. It looked surprisingly well made, and obviously by someone familiar with woodwork.
The inscription had been carved into the wood with something like a hot poker, and though it was plain text with no embellishment, it was smooth and flowed easily into the next letter. She paused for a moment, staring at the words, then focused on the young lad.
From the jagged marks on his chest, it was plain to see where the charge had entered the body. Fred approached from behind her and asked if she wanted him to erect the tent.
She shook her head silently, lost in thought. I know this kid. He was in for injury photos the other day. Cass left Fred for a moment to update Alex on what she’d remembered.
Then, after adjusting the settings on the camera, she began taking shots.
Cass and Fred had worked together for years. They were comfortable with each other and could instinctively work the scene without getting in each other’s way. She focused on photographing the scene, while Fred placed the yellow numbered markers. The tent was put up to hide the scene from the eyes of the public who despite Alex’s warnings, had congregated as close to the cordon as they could, intent on seeing the gruesome sight.
As Cass and Fred progressed through the examination, the footwear mark wasn’t the only thing they noticed.
A tiny piece of blue latex was stuck between two wires on the electric box, the edges rough and torn. Cass photographed it with long, medium and short shots, and Fred carefully pulled it out with sterile tweezers, placed it into a small pot and bagged and tagged it.
The possibility of DNA from a murder scene was always a good start.
Cass left Fred casting the shoeprint and went to the van for a crowbar. They had already been there over an hour and despite the cold morning, she was starting to feel the heat inside the suit.
Striding over to her, Alex said, ‘We landed Nigel again. He should be here in about twenty minutes. Tell me what we have so far.’
Cass filled him in and added that she’d need several officers to help with holding the coffin once Nigel arrived. First, she wanted it moving onto a plastic sheet to prevent any evidence being lost when they opened the lid.
It took four strong men and some major manoeuvring to get the coffin safely onto the wrap and
they’d only just finished when Nigel strode through the tent opening.
‘Three, Cass? You doing this just to keep me busy? I’ve barely got all the results back from the old guy.’
‘Tell me about it,’ groaned Cass. ‘Oh, how I long for a quiet shift. This one’s pretty awful Nigel. Poor kid was put in a coffin and electrocuted. Hell of a way to go.’
‘You’re not wrong. A current strong enough to kill takes a little time. First the muscles contract, causing severe pain and sometimes breaking bones. This causes the blood pressure to skyrocket, which can cause the heart and other organs to rupture. Even the brain can haemorrhage. Definitely not a nice way to go. Who found the body?’
‘His girlfriend. She’s at the hospital. Shock.’
Nigel nodded thoughtfully. ‘Understandable. She’ll need some form of counselling I would imagine.’
‘We moved the coffin onto a plastic sheet and laid it down, so it’s all ready, just to open and begin.’
Seaburn Seafront, Sunderland – 28 October
He was sitting on a bench on the promenade not far from the vacant lot, his hands curled round a now-cold cup of tea as he watched the police activity, the now regular frown on his face. He had to be careful – there was a slim chance one of his colleagues would recognise him, through his old-man-inspired disguise.
But he had to watch.
For some reason, Scott’s death hadn’t given him the satisfaction he craved. He had felt calm when he set the current off, ready for the wave of adrenaline and the same sensation he’d felt when he had killed the first time. It hadn’t happened when he killed the old man, but he’d been so sure he would get it this time.
He shook his head, asking himself why. For a moment he felt rage burn in his belly, he was angry that the feeling had been kept from him, angry that it wasn’t the same and he had to fight against the emotion before it overwhelmed him.
His eyes widened as he spotted Cass coming out of the lot. His mind suddenly shifted, and he realised something with utmost clarity.
With Deadly Intent Page 21
