SECONDS TO DIE a totally gripping serial killer thriller with a twist (Detective Claudia Nunn Book 2)

by Rebecca Bradley

  Obasi rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. The words were reaching him, but Claudia wasn’t sure how much was actually going in. It was usually the case. A FLO would go over everything again in the days following the initial death message and questions.

  ‘He went to the gym last night and never returned. I phoned you guys and reported him missing. Someone came out and took details.’ He bent double and sobbed into his knees. ‘But he never came back.’

  Claudia paused and allowed Obasi to grieve some more and then gather himself before they continued. They’d checked the missing person register yesterday when they first looked for the victim, but must have looked too soon, before Brendan was taken. ‘Did he attend the gym with anyone?’

  Obasi shook his head. The grief was taking all his energy out of him.

  ‘He never met up with any friends there?’

  Again Obasi shook his head. ‘He did his workout with his music plugged in and came home again. It was his release after a busy day. Said it helped his creativity.’

  Lisa noted the details of the gym. They’d follow up. Talk to clients and see if it had any CCTV.

  ‘What time did he leave home?’ Claudia asked. They needed the timeframe.

  Obasi looked broken. They were nearly done with their questions — all they had to do was finish up and make arrangements for Obasi to attend the mortuary and identify his husband.

  ‘He left about 8 p.m.’

  That gave them a timeframe to work with.

  Claudia informed him that a FLO would be in touch with him and would keep him updated with the investigation as well as interview him for continuing information on Brendan.

  ‘He was the kindest man you could meet. I really don’t understand who would do this,’ Obasi repeated, grief tearing down his face.

  Claudia wouldn’t make him a promise she couldn’t keep, so she didn’t tell him she would catch Brendan’s killer. Instead, all she could do was tell him they would do everything in their power to bring him to justice. It wasn’t enough.

  To Claudia, it was as though they were giving the killer free rein to put fear in the heart of Sheffield.

  CHAPTER 30

  He flicked through the news channels, waiting for the report on his exhibit. On his work of art.

  It had all gone as planned. The clock on the image, the short time frame provided, was treated by the police as it was intended, as an invitation. Not a random drawing to be ignored. He needed to be prepared, and he was. The clock was the time that the exhibit was ready for them. It wasn’t a time where they could meet him, the creator of the work.

  This was about his art. Not about him.

  Eventually the report came. Bland and boring. Reported as a crime.

  A murder.

  Could there be anything more pedestrian?

  It was so much more than how they were depicting it. They were missing the entire point of the installation.

  He had to wonder why.

  Why would they report it in such a way?

  It was usual for the media to embellish a story, not cut it down to the bare bones of what it was, as they had with this.

  There had to be a reason for doing so.

  He paced, staring at the photographic printouts he’d created to savour his work. They were now pinned to his spare room wall, out of the way should someone, very unusually, visit him.

  If the press had attended the scene — witnessed his glory, compared it to the invitation — they would have been salivating over him.

  He knew this.

  That was the problem.

  They hadn’t been informed of the invitation, let alone seen it.

  The police had withheld information about the invite. The reporters were unaware, so could not do the job to the best of their ability.

  This was something he could rectify. And switching on his laptop, he printed out the photographs he’d taken, typed out a brief letter of explanation to go with them and folded them into yet another envelope, wearing his gloves.

  This was his exhibition.

  This was his story.

  And he would control the narrative.

  No one would change the direction of what he had planned.

  He had complete control.

  Shame on Detective Inspector Claudia Nunn for thinking she could take it from him. He’d be watching her.

  The game is on, DI Claudia Nunn. Let us play.

  CHAPTER 31

  The following morning Claudia was again in work early. This time Sharpe was in her office. Waiting for her.

  Sitting in her chair.

  Claudia was a little flummoxed. She stood in the doorway, hovering like a new probationer without a backbone.

  ‘Oh, do come in, Claudia. This is your office.’

  Her rank and knowledge snapped into place, and Claudia stepped further into the space. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you so early. Is there a problem?’ She threw her bag onto the floor in the corner and placed her phone on the desk, for when she managed to get her desk back.

  ‘You could say that.’ Sharpe’s face gave nothing away. It was like a mask. Still and void.

  It was then that Claudia noticed the newspaper between them. A knot curled in her stomach. ‘What is it?’ She inclined her head in the paper’s direction.

  Sharpe picked it up. Waved it at Claudia. ‘He’s written to the press. They’re having a ball with it, and they’ve named him. They’ve given him a bloody name. I hate it when that happens, Claudia. It gives them some kind of perceived power when the press gives them a name. They’ve fuck all power.’ She glared at Claudia. ‘Do you hear me? Fuck all. He does not have any power.’

  Claudia nodded. Ice had run down her spine. ‘What’s the name?’ She had no idea what it could be. He hadn’t been consistent in his MO. Other than both being young males, there had been nothing similar at all between the victims, and they were miles apart. She couldn’t even contemplate what the press could come up with.

  Sharpe wrinkled her nose and unfolded the newspaper to show the headline: ‘The Artist’.

  Claudia reeled, taking a step back. She twisted and slammed her door shut, facing Sharpe with fury of her own. ‘How the hell do the press know he sends us drawings? I’m going to have someone’s head on a stake.’

  ‘Calm down.’ Sharpe seemed to sink into the chair. ‘It’s not one of your team. Apparently our friendly little artist contacted them himself.’ Venom tinted her tone.

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  Sharpe threw the paper back on the desk. ‘For this. For the media frenzy that he’s whipped up. He’s the talk of all of them. Even the television stations. He’s got fame and glory in his eyes. And a shiny new moniker.’

  Claudia dropped into the chair opposite Sharpe. Uncaring now that it wasn’t her own. This was a revelation too far. ‘This wasn’t supposed to get out.’

  ‘He believes otherwise.’ She prodded the paper with a polished nail. ‘It gets worse.’

  ‘In what way?’ Claudia didn’t want to consider how it could be worse than this.

  ‘He sent them photographs of the crime scenes. He photographed them after he killed them.’ Her voice was like stone.

  Claudia jumped to her feet. Her body twitchy and unable to get to grips with all the information that was being thrown at it.

  ‘They’re not showing them to the public, are they?’

  Sharpe let out a sigh. ‘They agreed not to. It wasn’t in good taste. They contacted us late last night. But they ran with the name and informed the public of everything he sent them.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I want you to pull your finger out and make an arrest. Can you do that?’ Sharpe stood. Her perfume wafted across the desk under Claudia’s nose. Sweet and floral. In complete contrast to her tone and stance.

  Claudia agreed the task force was on this and would not let up until they had identified their offender and brought him in.

  This seemed to appease Sharpe
somewhat, and she moved around the desk — Claudia’s desk — and towards the door. ‘Don’t let me down, Claudia. Connelly is watching as well as the chief constable, and above him the PCC is paying attention. Those who hang on to his coat-tails want to know when this will be resolved, and he doesn’t like not having an answer for them. It makes him feel stupid, was the phrase they gave me.’

  ‘God forbid we make the PCC feel stupid.’ Claudia retook her chair in a show of dominance, juvenile as it was.

  Sharpe had her hand on the door handle. ‘We may not like the politics of the office of the PCC, but it’s a role we have to respect, regardless of our thoughts.’

  Claudia was suitably scolded.

  ‘But, saying that—’ Sharpe opened the door to the incident room, letting a low thrum leak into Claudia’s office as team members came in for the day — ‘our attention should not be on what the PCC is saying, but on the evidence we are following. Do not be distracted by the politics. Do not allow them to distort the investigation. For you, the PCC and even the chief are not important.’

  Sharpe was deadly serious.

  ‘We have someone who thinks it’s incredibly clever to kill people. We know he thinks it’s clever because he sends us drawings before he commits the crime. We cannot allow him to continue on this path. Anything other than that is not worth your time or energy. Leave everything else to me to worry about. I’ll be your gatekeeper.’ She turned to walk out and then looked back. ‘Just do your job, Claudia, and catch this bastard. “The Artist” indeed.’ She huffed. ‘We don’t need a mad man with a stupid name roaming the streets and etching his way to his next murder.’ And with that, the door closed behind her.

  Sharpe stalked across the incident room and through the outer doors. Not a word was said to the staff who had come in early this morning ‘to catch this bastard’, as she’d so succinctly put it.

  Claudia followed Sharpe as far as the incident room. Her team were waiting for her. She jumped straight into it. ‘There were no witnesses to the murder of Brendan Carter. Just the jogger who found him and called the police.’ This wasn’t helpful to the investigation, it was like wading through mud on a foggy afternoon. Hard work and with no ability to see anything.

  ‘The press are having a field day screeching about the murders, and social media channels are alight. But what I want to know is if there’s anything useful on there. Anyone hiding out behind their keyboards instead of coming to talk to us?’

  Lisa’s face puckered. ‘Do they have no respect for the dead? They’re like a pack of dogs. Especially now the press has provided the killer with a ridiculous name.’

  ‘I think someone’s had a little too long staring at Facebook and Twitter,’ said Rhys. ‘Maybe come off for a while. I don’t think the Artist is going to show himself on there, anyway.’

  ‘You’re calling him the Artist, are you?’ Lisa snapped. Claudia could see she was tired from analysing social media channels and agreed with Rhys that she could probably do with a break.

  ‘It’s something to call him, in lieu of his name.’ Rhys scratched at his head.

  ‘It gives him far more kudos for what’s happening than he actually deserves,’ Lisa moaned quietly. The anger was seeping out of her. ‘He doesn’t deserve to be known like that. I imagine him preening to it.’

  Claudia could imagine the same thing, but the welfare of her staff was paramount. ‘Lisa, Rhys is right.’

  Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Rhys opened his mouth to speak then closed it again.

  ‘Have a break and go back to it later.’

  Right now Claudia needed to go to the photography shop and speak to Sean.

  CHAPTER 32

  Claudia and Russ turned up early at the photography shop. They wanted to get a head start on the day as there was a lot to do. The PM was booked in for the afternoon.

  Though the shop was closed for the day, Sean informed them he had decided to go in and use the free day, as it were, to tidy and order the place, so they had all agreed to meet there.

  Sean unlocked the door and checked their IDs thoroughly before allowing them access.

  There was an air of barely contained excitement about Sean, as though the murder and the subsequent enquiries with him this morning were some top-secret, high-level conspiracy case rather than the sad and barbaric killing that it was.

  ‘How can I help?’ He really was trying to contain the grin on his face, but it ended up being a twisted contortion from one cheek to the other.

  ‘You know why we’re here?’ Claudia tried to level him out.

  Sean straightened himself and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Yeah. It’s awful. Really awful. I can’t believe it. Brendan, he was a great bloke. A really great bloke. They both are. Or Brendan was.’ He looked at both Claudia and Russ. ‘You know what I mean.’ His body bounced. Energy flowing with nowhere to go.

  ‘Have you noticed anything different in the shop the last week or so?’ Russ asked.

  Sean looked around the space as though it would speak to him and tell him what he needed to know.

  The walls were clean and bright white, and hung in groupings to show off various different themes were photographs taken by Obasi and Brendan. There were stunning black-and-white images of the city, the buildings shot from ground level up. The sky looming overhead, the structures solid and every single one with a story to tell. And colourful shots grouped together of life, of people, smiles, laughter, tears, distress. It was all captured with a beautiful sincerity. Claudia was awed by the imagery, and if she hadn’t been here on a case, she would most definitely have been be drawn to a number of photographs for her wall at home. Though she imagined they’d be well out of her price range, looking at the place.

  ‘No,’ said Sean. ‘No, there was nothing. They were working on a new batch of images which they wouldn’t tell me about. But that was usual for them. They liked to be secretive while they were drawing up a new feature.’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary from buyers, anyone who came into the shop? Problems with customers?’ Claudia pushed.

  Sean shook his head. His excitement wearing off slightly, it was obvious he had nothing of substance to offer. ‘Everything seemed to be ticking along as normal.’ A hand went up very dramatically to his chest. ‘I can’t believe this has happened. They were such a lovely couple.’

  He tried for grief, but there were no tears in his eyes. For him, this was about being involved in the investigation. As soon as they left, he’d be on his phone to his friends telling them he’d been ‘questioned’ by the police about the murders, no doubt. People like Sean really got under Claudia’s skin. She continued her professional front, though. She would not stoop down to his level.

  ‘What about Obasi and Brendan?’ she asked.

  He looked puzzled. ‘What about them?’

  ‘Have you noticed anything different about them? Between them? Have they been fighting at all?’

  ‘Oh my.’

  He should have gone into amateur dramatics.

  ‘I didn’t even consider Obasi for this. You think it could have been Obasi? You think he could have had something to do with this? Oh no.’ The dramatics were well done. Just enough shock to show it hadn’t crossed his mind.

  ‘No, that’s not what we’re saying. In an investigation like this we try to get a feel for the victim’s life in all areas. That includes their relationships.’ She closed him down.

  He looked suitably deflated. ‘I get you.’ He attempted to keep the ground he had.

  ‘Well?’ Claudia prompted.

  ‘They were fine. More than fine. They were who they always were. They had a great relationship. I’ve never seen a couple who were in each other’s pockets — you know, living together and working together — be as strong as they were.’

  Again, it was as though he had an insight no one else had. One the investigation team should be grateful for.

  Claudia would not give him what he was looking for. The
gratitude he needed to soak up.

  The door rattled as someone tried to enter. Sean snapped to attention to check it was locked. It was. It stayed closed. He took a couple of steps closer so whoever was on the other side of the glass partition could hear him and shouted that they weren’t opening today and that the police were currently here.

  Claudia couldn’t help but let out a sigh. There was no need to say they were there. It would have been easy enough to inform the potential buyer that they were closed for the day, but Sean needed the added drama.

  She wasn’t going to allow him any more of their time. She looked at Russ and shook her head. He shoved his pen away and flipped his notebook closed in agreement.

  Sean had had all the attention he was going to get from them for the day.

  CHAPTER 33

  Next stop was the gym that Obasi said Brendan frequented and had attended the night of his disappearance.

  Fab and Fit gym on Arundel Gate wasn’t far from their apartment, which meant Brendan had walked there.

  It was quiet when they entered. Empty but for a couple of women. Claudia presumed they were mothers who had dropped the children off at school and were getting a quick hit in the gym before a busy day took over. Maybe single women hitting the gym before a day at the office. People lived many a varied life.

  Immediately Claudia was overwhelmed with the smell of rubber and body odour along with a slight whiff of antibacterial cleaner trying to hide the stale sweat.

  A male in baggy shorts and sports vest was behind a tall desk. Behind him was a glass product display case holding exercise bands, supplements and various other small items you could fit in the cabinet. He smiled as Claudia and Russ approached. ‘Morning, how can I help you guys? Want to book in a complimentary tour?’

  Claudia and Russ both pulled out their identification and pushed it in front of his face. ‘DI Claudia Nunn and DS Russ Kane,’ said Claudia. ‘We’d like to talk to someone who can help us with information on a client and whether he attended the gym last night. Preferably someone who was here and saw him.’

  This piqued the receptionist’s interest. ‘I was here last night.’