by OMJ Ryan
In the weeks that followed, Phillips had quietly set about finding out the truth of who Rachel Gibson, born Rachel Fletcher, really was. Based on the nature of her crimes and her justification for committing them, it came as no surprise that Rachel’s birth mother had been a prostitute and a drug addict.
Like the children she claimed to be saving, the young Rachel had been in and out of care homes for a number of years, many of which were later closed down after investigations found evidence of systemic and wide-scale child abuse. It was only when she was twelve years old, and her mother had drowned in her own bathtub, that Rachel had been fostered, and later adopted, by Frances and Michael Gibson. The Gibsons had given Rachel a stable home for the first time in her life, which had seen her graduate from university and enter the GMP ten years ago.
In nearly twenty years of policing, Phillips had seen first-hand just how deep the wounds of neglect and childhood abuse can run. From their conversation on the banks of the canal in Lymm, Phillips knew Gibson’s desire to work in SCT had been driven by hope. Hope that she could somehow get the girls off the street, away from pimps and heroin. The driving factor was her desire to give their kids a normal, stable life – the complete opposite of her own childhood. However, as she had been at pains to explain, the system didn’t work and the problem was only getting worse.
Phillips wondered if the brutality she had seen in her job had become too much to bear, and caused her to move outside the law in her efforts to protect the kids. Sadly, she would never know.
As the service came to a close and the thick purple and gold-lined curtain closed, Gibson’s favourite song began to seep from the speakers on the wall of the chapel. A moving piece by Eva Cassidy. That was their cue to leave.
Avoiding the line of family members waiting to greet the mourners, Phillips and Jones stepped outside into the winter sun shining down on the crematorium car park. They made a point of taking up a position opposite the main exit, deliberately out of earshot. As the mourners began to file out, Phillips mused over the death of Gibson’s birth mother. ‘It does make me wonder if the mother was Gibbo’s first victim, Jonesy.’
‘I was thinking that myself, Guv, but that’s a helluva thing for a twelve-year-old to feel compelled to do.’
‘Yeah, but it certainly could explain her obsession with drowning, don’t you think?’
‘Well, if she got away with it once, then she probably thought she could get away with it again.’
Phillips nodded. ‘And again, and again, and again.’
At that moment, a mournful-looking DC Mountfield finished shaking hands with Gibson’s parents and stepped out into the sunshine. Spotting Phillips and Jones, he smiled and walked towards them.
‘Look at that arrogant prick,’ mumbled Jones under his breath just before he joined them.
Mountfield had a smug look on his face. ‘DCI Phillips and DS Jones, fancy seeing you here. You guys ready to apologise for wrongly accusing me of murder?’
Jones couldn’t hide his disdain. ‘Piss off, you sanctimonious piece of shit.’
Mountfield feigned feeling hurt. ‘Now now, DS Jones. Please remember, I’m a free man and deserve your respect as a fellow officer.’
‘You’re a fucking predator who got away with raping women in the line of duty,’ Jones sneered, doing his best to keep his voice down.
Mountfield scoffed. ‘They weren’t women, Jonesy, no, no, no. They were low-life hookers. There’s a difference, and it seems our bosses agree with me.’
Phillips remained silent as she glared at Mountfield. As their eyes met, he suddenly appeared unnerved. ’Cat got your tongue, Phillips?’
‘I’m just wondering how cocky you’ll be when you start your sentence in Hawk Green.’
‘You must have missed the memo, love, but I’m getting off scot-free with a full pension. Just for keeping my gob shut. No doubt that will eat you up inside, which makes it all the more satisfying. But rest assured, I’ll never see the inside of a prison cell.’
‘Really? Is that so? There’s something I’d like you to see if you have a minute.’ Phillips reached into her coat pocket and retrieved her phone. Opening it, she found what she was looking for, clicked on the photo and turning the screen to face Mountfield. ‘Do you recognise this girl, DC Mountfield?’
Mountfield glanced at it casually. ‘I’ve seen her around.’
‘Her name’s Lucy Green, and you’re very well acquainted with her, as well you know. You see, according to Lucy, you repeatedly forced her to have sex with you for most of last year.’
Mountfield shrugged his shoulders. ‘So what? Like I said, all historical charges have been dropped against me. Makes no difference now.’
Phillips nodded. ‘Yes, that’s true, all the historical charges listed have been dropped as part of your deal. However, thanks to Lucy Green, I’ll be bringing fresh charges against you in the coming days.’
Mountfield brushed aside the threat. ‘For what exactly?’
Phillips smiled. ‘I’m curious, DC Mountfield. Do you know how old Lucy is?’
‘Eighteen, nineteen, I dunno.’
‘No, I didn’t think you did. She’s actually just turned sixteen years old this month. Which means that when you repeatedly had sex with her last year, she was fifteen, and underage.’
Mountfield’s face dropped.
‘You never were much of a detective, were you, Don? That said, even a dumb shit like you knows that’s statutory rape, and carries a mandatory prison term of three to five years. So it looks like you may be spending some time at Her Majesty’s Pleasure after all. And you can kiss good-bye to that pension of yours.’
Mountfield opened his mouth to speak, but Phillips had no intention of listening to anything else he had to say. ‘Goodbye, DC Mountfield,’ she said with a broad smile.
Jones stepped in close to Mountfield, so their noses were almost touching. ‘Helluva place for bent coppers, Hawk Green, Don,’ he said in a menacing whisper. ‘You’re gonna love it,’ he added, tapping Mountfield on the cheek.
All the cockiness seemed to drain from Mountfield as Jones held his terrified gaze.
‘Come on, Jonesy,’ said Phillips, ‘let’s get back to the station. We need time to prepare cell number eight and Interview Room Three for our distinguished guest.’
‘Right you are, Guv,’ said Jones, winking at Mountfield, who had turned a funny shade of green. ‘We’ll be seeing you, Don, we’ll be seeing you.’
GET A FREE CRIME THRILLER!
Sign up to the Inkubator newsletter (OMJ’s publisher) to receive a FREE novel, Deadly Secrets — the case where Jane Phillips suffers from PTSD and gets demoted. You’ll also get news of our other great mystery and suspense books and hear about special offers.
Sign up here
Acknowledgements
This book is dedicated to the memory of Michael Ryan and Les Pickering. Two men who had a profound influence on my life. You are missed every day, but always in my heart.
Deadly Waters would not have been possible without the help and support of my amazing wife Kim, who is my biggest fan, and my rock. Thank you for your patience, trust and faith in me.
My gorgeous boy Vaughan. Every day you inspire me to be the best I can be.
A huge thanks to Mum for all your support, love and prayers.
Doreen, you are the first line of defence against my penchant for missing out words when I’m in full flow.
James Eve and Carole Lawford, ex CPS Prosecutor, who helped me accurately reflect the minefield that is British Law.
My publishers, Brian and Garret, and my editor, Laurel, who continually push me to raise my standards.
And finally, thank you for reading Deadly Waters. If you could spend a moment to write an honest review, no matter how short, I would be extremely grateful. They really do help readers discover my books.
Leave a Review
Best wishes,
Owen
www.omjryan.com
Also
by OMJ Ryan
DEADLY SECRETS
(A crime thriller introducing DCI Jane Phillips)
DEADLY SILENCE
(Book 1 in the DCI Jane Phillips series)
Published by Inkubator Books
www.inkubatorbooks.com
Copyright © 2020 by OMJ Ryan
DEADLY WATERS is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
