It should have been the breakthrough they needed, but they couldn’t get to him. At the time the driver was arrested, Demiri was out of the country. Enquiries to his offices at the software company he owned in Ashford resulted in Kay and her colleagues being told he was attending meetings on the Continent and wouldn’t fly back for a week.
Kay had settled in for an impatient wait, determined to arrest Demiri upon his return.
And then the gun had disappeared from the evidence locker and her world had disintegrated.
Now, she worked her way through the different modules of the database, her eyes scanning the numerous notes and records she and her colleagues had entered into the system.
Every single phone conversation, interview, evidence record and other lines of enquiry were logged by the team working the case. An exhibits officer had been tasked with logging the various items they had seized over the course of the investigation, including mobile phones, keys to properties that had been searched, and the gun.
Kay’s finger froze above her mouse and then she frowned and flicked back two screens to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.
She wasn’t.
She swore under her breath.
The record describing the gun that had been lodged as evidence was gone.
She scrolled the mouse cursor up and down the page, but it was no good. Someone had deleted the record.
Panic threatened to overwhelm her, and she wiped away the prickle of sweat at her hairline.
There had to be an explanation.
She wracked her memory. She recalled there was a way to look up the history of the online file; a way to find out who entered each update, but she wasn’t sure she’d still have administration rights – the secondary login that was needed to review those records, not after her return to active duty.
‘Only one way to find out,’ she murmured.
She wiggled the mouse as the screen started to darken, and the display brightened immediately. She hovered the cursor over a different menu option, clicked the mouse, and mentally crossed her fingers.
A pop-up message appeared in the middle of the screen.
Password accepted. Please wait.
Kay exhaled.
She leaned forward, counting off the seconds in her head while she waited for the information to download.
And then, after a few seconds, a single name flashed on the screen.
Kay sat back in her chair, and blinked.
‘No way,’ she breathed.
Twenty-Three
Kay walked through the door of her house, and into a hallway filled with the aroma of a roast dinner.
Her stomach rumbled before she’d even slipped the chain over the lock and secured the dead bolt.
‘Smells divine,’ she said as she entered the kitchen, willing her voice to sound upbeat.
Adam grinned, a joint of beef in a roasting dish between his oven mitt-covered hands. ‘You say that about everything you’re going to eat.’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘I guessed that. Go and get out of your work clothes. I’ve got this under control.’
She swung her bag off her shoulder and left the room as he opened the oven door, the sweet tang of roasting potatoes wafting after her.
She pushed the thought of the missing evidence record to the back of her mind. She couldn’t afford to dwell on it; Adam would worry and she still had a murder to solve.
Her mind turned to the death of the man on the railway, and she pulled out her notebook to set herself some reminders for the next day. She liked the challenge, and the more she worked with Sharp, the more he seemed to trust her judgement. She realised it was the confidence boost she needed right now, and the sense that her life was returning to an even keel made her more determined to renew her ambition to become detective inspector.
She quickly undressed, threw her work clothes into the laundry basket, and tugged on a sweatshirt and jeans. Padding back along the landing in bare feet, she paused at the door to the home office.
She stood in the doorway, briefly contemplated whether to switch on the computer and work for half an hour prior to Adam dishing up, and then discounted the idea. She needed time to regroup, to organise her thoughts before she attempted to continue her investigation. She was conscious of the fact that otherwise, she could end up going round in circles.
She needed a breakthrough, and it wasn’t going to be found on her home computer.
Instead, she pulled the door closed and made her way downstairs.
‘Anything I can do to help?’ she said, eyeing up the fresh vegetables Adam had laid out on the chopping board.
‘All under control. You could feed Holly, if you like.’
At the sound of her name, the large dog roused herself from her bed and wandered over to her bowl, her tongue hanging out and a smile in her eyes. Her tail bashed the side of the workbench as she waited.
Kay scooped two portions of food into Holly’s bowl and set it on the floor next to the back door.
The Great Dane ambled over, sniffed the food once, then tucked in.
‘Mmmm. Dog food again.’
‘She’s happy. Don’t tease.’ Kay put the plastic scoop back in the bag of dog food and sealed the top, then washed her hands and glanced over her shoulder. ‘What’ve you been up to today?’
Adam joined her at the sink and wrapped his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he stared out the kitchen window. The moon had risen over the line of trees beyond the back fence, and now the sky began to speckle with the closest of the evening’s stars.
He pointed to the bottom of the garden. ‘You have a brand new lock on the garden shed, I’ve changed the blades on the lawnmower, and I reorganised your CD collection by colour of album cover.’
She spun to face him. ‘You did not.’
His mouth quirked. ‘Gotcha.’
‘Bastard.’
He grinned, and kissed her. ‘Yes, but you love me.’
‘Just as well.’ She picked up the tea towel and swatted him with it.
He laughed and crossed the room to the oven before pulling the glass dish out, its contents crackling and spitting. He swung round and placed it on the chopping board, and then took the carving knife Kay handed over.
The dog paced the floor impatiently, and Kay opened the back door to let her outside.
A breeze lifted her fringe from her forehead and she took a deep breath, savouring the freshness as she stood on the back doorstep. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to relax. Despite everything, she still had Adam, a roof over her head, and a job she loved.
She stepped aside to let Holly back in, and locked the door.
‘Good timing,’ said Adam. ‘Dinner’s served.’
After the plates were stacked in the dishwasher, Kay followed Adam through to the living room, Holly padding after them.
The dog curled up on the carpet in front of the bookshelves against the far wall, and they collapsed onto the sofa.
Kay sighed and patted her stomach. ‘I’m stuffed.’
Adam topped up his wineglass with the bottle he’d brought through from the kitchen, and held it up to her.
‘Only a bit, thanks.’
‘Are you on call tonight?’
‘No, but Sharp wants us in early. I don’t want a foggy brain in the morning.’
They settled back into the cushions, and Adam scrolled through the channels on the television until he found a music quiz show they both enjoyed.
Soon, they were yelling their answers at the screen and laughing at each other’s attempts to outwit the other.
Two hours later, Kay had called it a night.
Except she couldn’t sleep.
Adam’s soft breathing tickled her ear; he’d fallen asleep with his arm around her and she tried not to fidget in case she woke him up, otherwise she’d be tempted to switch on her bedside lamp and read for a while.
The house creaked as it began to cool down; the central heating had gone
off three hours ago, and wouldn’t start up again until the early hours of the morning.
Below the bedroom, Holly shuffled on her bed in the kitchen; Kay could hear her through the baby monitor and held her breath in case she needed to wake Adam up because the puppies were on their way. She exhaled as the dog grew silent before soft snores emanated through the monitor, and she smiled.
A car passed by outside, the headlights shining on the ceiling between the cracks in the curtain. It slowed as it passed the house, and Kay frowned, wondering who it could be so late at night. Eventually, it picked up speed as it navigated the bend in the road to the left of the house, its engine fading into the distance.
Kay closed her eyes, and tried to relax.
She was jerked awake by her mobile phone ringing on the bedside table next to her.
She peered through bleary eyes at the number displayed and groaned.
Adam removed his arm from her shoulder. ‘Trouble?’
‘Sharp.’ She took a deep breath before she answered. ‘Guv?’
She listened to Sharp’s voice, his tone clipped and on edge, then murmured her understanding and finished the call.
Adam’s brow creased. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, as she slipped from beneath the warmth of the bedcovers and began to dress.
‘I’ve got to go. There’s been another one.’
Twenty-Four
Kay took one look at Barnes’s ashen face, and was glad that when she had attended the scene the previous evening, Sharp had delegated her to interview the train driver with Dave Walker.
‘If I’d known how bad that was going to be,’ he said, ‘I’d have skipped dinner last night.’
Kay rubbed at bleary eyes and tried to push the memory of the last victim from her mind, and returned to the computer to read the notes that had been updated earlier that morning. ‘No witnesses this time. The train driver stated he saw nothing to indicate that there was anybody else in the vicinity, either. The first time he saw the body on the tracks, it was because his headlights picked him out. He didn’t have time to stop.’
Barnes stared into his coffee, but said nothing.
‘Has there been anything to indicate this is another murder, rather than a suicide?’ asked Sharp.
‘There wasn’t much left to work with, guv,’ said Kay. ‘I think our killer learned from last time. Whatever he used to keep his victim on those tracks, he didn’t tie them down. There’s no evidence of rope or plastic ties being used.’
‘Drugs?’
‘If he used a date rape drug, it’s going to be damn hard for Lucas to find that in the body parts he has to work with.’
‘So, maybe it is a suicide.’
‘I’m not convinced. Not so soon after the last one.’
The phone next to Carys’s elbow rang, and Sharp nodded to her to answer it.
‘We’ll have to run two lines of enquiry into the suicide angle and the murder angle until one of them gets ruled out, then,’ he said. ‘And that’s not going to be easy, given that we don’t know who this guy is either.’
‘What if he hasn’t stopped?’ said Barnes. ‘What if he’s only just getting started?’
‘And why start now? Why has he only started killing in the last seven months? What’s triggered it?’ said Gavin.
Sharp took one of the marker pens and added their questions to the whiteboard. ‘Whoever this is, he knows the network well. He’s too familiar with the routes in and out of the crime scenes.’
‘What about trainspotters?’ said Gavin.
‘It’s worth bearing in mind, but usually they hang around train stations. They’re more interested in the locomotives than the routes.’
‘Forget suicide. It’s murder,’ said Carys. She put down the phone and turned in her chair to face the team. ‘That was Harriet on the phone. Her CSI team have just confirmed that although no traces of rope or anything like that were found on the victim, a substance found on the back of his ankles has tested positive as a strong adhesive. The sort you use instead of banging in nails to a wall.’
‘Jesus,’ said Barnes, breaking the shocked silence. ‘He’s a monster.’
Sharp paced the carpet in front of the whiteboard. ‘Has Harriet confirmed whether any other fingerprints were found on the clothing belonging to the victim?’
Carys shook her head. ‘He must have been wearing gloves. Whoever he is, he’s well-prepared.’
‘Not only does he know how to access areas of track without being seen, he’s leaving no evidence behind now,’ said Kay. ‘He’s learning from his mistakes. We were lucky that when Lawrence Whiting was killed, he moved so that the train severed his leg above the ankle and we had the rope as evidence. If he’d remained unconscious and hadn’t moved, the wheels of the train would’ve destroyed the evidence, as our killer originally planned.’
‘The footprints Harriet’s team found next to the railway tracks,’ said Kay, spinning from side to side on her chair while she stared at the whiteboard. ‘We all assumed that they were left by our suspect as he left the scene before the train arrived. What if he didn’t leave? What if he stayed?’
‘To watch, you mean?’ Barnes wrinkled his nose. ‘That’s sick.’
‘True. But so is tying a helpless man to a railway line.’
‘Doesn’t make sense,’ said Barnes. ‘Why wait so long between kills if it is the same person? He’s left it something like a month between the first and second, two months between the second and third, and another two months before Whiting was killed.’
‘It could be because if he did it too often, it would raise suspicion.’
‘What the hell is his motive?’ said Sharp.
‘It’s not frenzied; it’s not like he has an insatiable lust for killing,’ said Kay. ‘Everything he’s done to date has been meticulously planned – even the locations are known suicide spots, and until recently no one else has been around to verify it’s murder. If Elsa Flanagan hadn’t been walking her dog the other night, we’d be none the wiser.’
‘So, he’s less likely to make a mistake,’ said Barnes. ‘Which doesn’t help us.’
Kay pointed at the map pinned to the wall. ‘And, given the length of track and different routes that cover this area, we’ve got no idea where he might go next. According to Dave Walker, they’ve got CCTV cameras at all the stations and some of the bridges that have been used as jumping spots – the rest of the network isn’t monitored.’
‘What sort of person would do this?’ said Carys. ‘It’s horrific.’
‘Someone who wants revenge.’ Kay threw down her pen. ‘But, for what? And, why the second one so fast?’
‘Maybe because the last one went wrong – the victim was able to shout for help,’ said Carys. ‘And he’s probably guessed that someone heard him – if he was still in the area, he might’ve seen the first responders arrive.’
‘Sort of like an arsonist, you mean?’ said Barnes.
Carys nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ said Gavin. ‘If he knows that we know, surely he’d wait – bide his time as it were, and go into hiding.’
Kay reeled back as if she’d been slapped. ‘Shit, that’s it,’ she said, and looked around at her colleagues.
‘He’s got a list. Whatever his motive for killing them is, he knows we’re on to him, so he’s changed his pattern. He wants to make sure he kills them all.’
Twenty-Five
He opened sleep-encrusted eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight that escaped through a chink in the blinds.
Dust motes spun in the air as he stared up at the ceiling and tried to fight down the exhaustion that threatened to engulf him. He twisted his neck and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table.
Ten o’clock.
He pushed himself up into an upright position, reached out for the bottle of pills next to the reading lamp, and swallowed two with the aid of the contents of the glass of water he’d left out the night before.
He c
ould hear his neighbour outside, whistling as she hung out her washing. The overly cheerful tune further darkened his mood. He threw back the duvet cover and stomped towards the bathroom.
As he stood under the shower’s hot jets of water, his mind turned to the project schedule.
Last night had gone well. This time, he’d carried out a proper risk assessment. There had been no chance of him being discovered, nor his victim, before the train had had a chance to take his life.
It had been perfect. The man had only started to come to his senses within moments of the train’s approach.
He reached out for the soap and lathered his body, as he recalled the confusion in the man’s eyes when he’d tried to lift his head only to find that he couldn’t. He may have been groggy, but he was conscious enough to scream as the train had borne down upon him.
He dried himself, dressed and made his way downstairs to the front room. He peered through the net curtains, but the street was silent. Everyone else had left for work or, like his neighbour, were busy doing household chores.
It was different for him. He was a man of leisure, with no need to work.
Those days were over.
He padded back through the hallway and out the back door, slipped a key from his pocket and wandered round the corner to the elongated garage to the side of the house.
He’d extended the structure to create a workshop for himself several years ago. When he worked, he’d taken up wood turning and had spent hours carving lumps of aged trees into gifts for his friends and work colleagues.
All that had changed.
He glanced over his shoulder at the garden, then squinted at the azure sky, before making a mental note to mow the lawn before returning to the house.
It wouldn’t do to let the place go to wrack and ruin, even if his mind felt like it was disintegrating.
Besides, it would keep him out of the house for a bit longer.
He turned back and inserted the key into the lock and twisted it, the door opening easily on well-greased hinges.
Will to Live Page 9
