Dead to Me: A serial killer thriller (Detective Kate Matthews Crime Thriller Series Book 1)

by Stephen Edger

  ‘You could ask her. It’s time to stop making excuses, Kate. She’s desperate to get to know you. This is a wake-up call. Quit wasting time, and get to know your daughter. You never know, she might be more like you than you give her credit for. I swear she’s got a detective’s mind, just like her mother. We were playing hide-and-seek earlier, and the first time she hid from me, I was sure she was under your duvet, so I acted dumb for a bit, checking behind the curtains and in your wardrobe, before pulling the duvet back. Turned out she’d shoved pillows under the duvet to trick me. I finally found her in the room I’d been counting in! I swear I didn’t hear her come back into the room. She’s one smart cookie, I can tell you.’

  Kate couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face, despite her best efforts to halt it. ‘God, where did she learn to be so clever?’

  Trish stood and picked up her handbag. ‘That’s why so many underestimate their generation: they don’t realise they’ve got street-smarts.’

  Kate showed her to the door. ‘I really do appreciate your help today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

  Trish fixed her with a look. ‘Just don’t expect it every day. Oh, that reminds me, the installer left instructions on how to set the alarm. I left the booklet with your change in the kitchen.’

  Kate double-locked the door, blocking it off with a strategically balanced ironing board. If he dared to come back again tonight, she’d know about it.

  54

  Kate jerked awake as her head slipped off her hand. She tried to refocus on the papers in her lap, but her eyes felt so heavy that she could barely see the words in front of her.

  Bed was the sensible option, but she still hadn’t found anything tangible to link the deaths of Yen, Watson, and Jacobs. The supe was going to demand answers in the morning, and as sure as she was that the murders were linked, she needed more than her gut instinct to persuade him.

  Yen had drowned, probably in the bathtub at her home, but that wasn’t where her naked body had been discovered. Instead, she was found dumped at a skatepark, several miles from home. No foreign DNA had been found on her body, and in his report the pathologist had noted the presence of ammonia, suggesting the body had been cleaned at the secondary site.

  Kate circled the word ‘flunitrazepam’ on the printout. A trace amount of the date rape drug had been found in her blood. Ben had said the same about Jacobs, hadn’t he? That meant the person who had killed Yen used the same drug as the man who killed Jacobs. It was tenuous, given the ease with which the drug could be obtained, but it was a connection.

  Ben had said the drug had probably been used to make Jacobs more compliant when the killer had got her in the pub. Maybe that was why there were no defensive wounds on Yen, too. If she’d been drugged before being submerged, she would have been less aware of what was happening. Underhill had laughed at her suggestion that the three cases could be linked because the MOs were so different, but the use of the date rape drug narrowed the gap.

  Kate studied the printout of Watson’s toxicology report. There was no mention of flunitrazepam, but there’d been little left for them to work with. She cursed under her breath. The only thing she had linking Watson and Yen was Fenton; namely, the image and DVD her stalker had given her. It wouldn’t be enough to formally link him to both.

  She looked at the phone records that Hendrix’s team had pulled. Fenton had called Watson on Monday night, as Nicola Vyner had told them. The call had come from Fenton’s club at 21.22, which married with what Nicola had told them. It also proved that he wasn’t at Nicholson’s party, as he’d claimed, assuming he was the one who’d placed the call. Why else would Watson have gone to Fenton’s dockside warehouse? Nicola had said he had a fear of open water, so he wouldn’t have chosen to go there without a very good reason.

  Her eyelids were closing again.

  There were too many jigsaw pieces and she couldn’t be certain what picture she was trying to create. Pushing the paperwork to one side, she stood and paced the room to clear her head and wake herself up. The connection was there somewhere, she just had to find it. She thought about the stalker’s messages: DELIVER JUSTICE; CATCH A KILLER; THE ANSWERS ARE IN FRONT OF YOU.

  She was putting her faith in someone she didn’t know; a dangerous and disturbed monster who had assaulted her and threatened Chloe’s life. Maybe Patel was right; maybe she did need her head examining.

  Her pacing had slowed. Looking down at the mess of papers on the floor and sofa filled her with frustration. She looked longingly along the hallway to where her bed beckoned her, soft and welcoming, but she wouldn’t find the answers there.

  Returning to her spot on the sofa, she picked up the Jacobs file and began reading it again from the start.

  55

  MONDAY

  The technician in the lab coat placed the second cardboard box on the table in front of Kate. ‘These are what you asked for: the clippings and photographs recovered from the Yen and Jacobs crime scenes. Each clipping is in a sealed evidence bag, and I am to remind you that they need to stay within the bag. Any evidence of tampering will make them inadmissible.’

  Kate lowered her coffee mug. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Where do you want me to sign?’

  When she was alone, she lifted the lid from the first box, and emptied the contents onto the glass tabletop. Each evidence bag was labelled, and it appeared they had ordered them chronologically.

  She skimmed each article, jotting occasional notes in her notebook. She’d read and reread all the case notes on Yen, Watson, and Jacobs the night before, and had no clue what time she’d dropped off. She’d woken in the same spot on the sofa when her phone’s alarm had sounded at six. She’d showered quickly, dropped Chloe at Mrs Gillespie’s and had been with Scientific Services by seven. Her team would be arriving within the hour and she wanted to be there for the morning briefing.

  The summary report on these clippings was accurate. They all related to cases that Eleanor Jacobs had worked on. She had represented a variety of scumbags in her time, although Kate only recognised a handful of names. She returned the bags to the cardboard box, feeling more frustrated than ever that she couldn’t find any kind of link back to Yen or Watson.

  So why had the killer left the clippings? Or had he not? Was she just finding clues where there weren’t any? Maybe Jacobs hadn’t been the control freak Kate had pictured her to be; maybe she’d ripped out the articles and had planned to trim the edges before creating the scrapbook.

  She opened the second box and removed the first evidence bag, expecting more of the same, but frowned at a photograph of a young smiling boy, not much older than ten. Had the technician brought in the wrong box? She checked the label. No, this was one of the photographs recovered from Olivia Yen’s bedroom. She turned the bag over, half-expecting to see a message scrawled on the back, but it was plain. She stood so she could see deeper into the box, pushing bags to the side as she examined the contents. Image after image of young boys stared back at her. Some smiling, some posing, some caught off guard. There had to be at least twenty different pictures of boys ranging from the ages of five or six, up to adolescence.

  She checked the box label for a second time. It indicated that the images had been in a shoebox just beneath the bed. It didn’t make sense. Why would Yen have had these images? If she was some kind of predator, which Kate doubted, surely the box would have been stashed somewhere it couldn’t be found, not just out of sight under a bed. But if they weren’t her images, why were they there? To throw the police off the killer’s scent? Yen had no criminal record, and wasn’t known to the police for any kind of indecency. But had her killer known differently?

  Kate scribbled the theory out in her notebook. She tipped the box over, and spread the bags across the glass table, making a concerted effort to examine each face. All of the children were dressed, and the locations of each picture looked different. If this had been some kind of paedophile stash, she would have expected to
see the children in various stages of undress, and with the same plain background behind them. She stood back, taking in the pile of photographs. It would be almost impossible to identify the children without a massive investment in an appeal for public support.

  Kate checked her watch. She needed to get down to the Incident Room. She scooped up the photographs and was about to put them back, when she spotted a final evidence bag still in the box, caught beneath a flap at the bottom: an article torn from a newspaper, just like the clippings found in Jacobs’s house. It had to be more than just coincidence. Pulling it out, she began to read about someone named Bill Corsky, who had been sentenced on several counts of sexual assault against children under the age of thirteen years; none of his victims were named within the article, but Kate felt certain she’d probably just looked into the faces of those he’d assaulted.

  She shivered.

  She didn’t recognise Corsky’s name or picture, and she couldn’t see what any of it had to do with Olivia Yen, Harold Watson, Eleanor Jacobs, or Danny Fenton. She’d come to the lab looking for answers; instead, she was leaving with more questions.

  56

  ‘Right, ladies and gents,’ Kate said as she looked around the room at her bleary-eyed team. ‘I hope you’ve all enjoyed a good night’s rest, because we’re not sleeping until we catch this prick. Three things I want to focus on this morning. Firstly, where and when was Eleanor Jacobs abducted? Secondly, who are our most likely suspects? I want no more than five names for us to focus our efforts on. Finally—’

  The door to the room flew open, crashing in to the table behind it. DSI Williams stood framed in the light from the hallway. His face was shaking as he strained to control his anger. ‘Matthews. My office. NOW!’

  He stormed away and everyone’s eyes slowly returned to Kate, who tried to remain composed.

  ‘Patel, will you finish off?’ She handed him the board pen. ‘Laura, a word, please?’

  She pushed through the team and stepped into the corridor. Relieved that the supe had already made it back to his office, she pulled Laura to one side. ‘I need you to chase up the forensics on the machete. I need confirmation that it was the one used to kill Watson, and I need it now.’

  ‘I will, ma’am. Do you think I should… will I come with you, if you’re about to get—?’

  ‘No, Laura. I appreciate the support but he doesn’t need two of us to hurl abuse at. The raid on Fenton’s place was my idea, and I’ll bear the brunt. Try not to worry about it. Just get me those results. Okay?’

  Laura nodded and returned to the Incident Room.

  Kate paused for a moment outside the supe’s office, resting her hand against the wall to steady her breathing and let the cold wave of dread subside.

  She knocked on the door, entered and stood to attention. She’d never seen his face so red.

  He was on his feet, hands pressed against the desk as he leaned forward. ‘What the fucking hell do you have to say for yourself?’

  She had no idea how to answer. She assumed he was angry about the raid on Fenton’s place, but maybe there was something else she’d done wrong. How to answer sincerely without making things worse?

  She settled for bowing her head. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  He was taken aback by her response. ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’

  She could see his knuckles whitening as he pressed harder against the desk. ‘I don’t know what else you want me to say, sir.’

  ‘Well, you could start with what the fuck you thought you were doing carrying out an unsanctioned search on a suspect’s property in a case that you’re not involved with.’

  ‘You wanted me to use my instincts, sir, and—’

  ‘On your own bloody case!’

  ‘But, sir, I think Hendrix is wrong.’

  ‘Tell me, have you spent the last eighteen months investigating organised crime in our city?’

  ‘Well, no, sir—’

  ‘So, what makes you think you’re qualified to have any bloody understanding of what went on at that warehouse?’

  ‘Sir, if you’ll let me finish, I—’

  ‘What is it with you, Matthews? Do you have a problem with authority?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Is it me then? Do you have no respect for my role within this unit?’

  ‘No, of course not, sir. It’s just—’

  ‘It was this kind of reckless consideration for authority that got you kicked out of the Met.’

  ‘With respect—’

  ‘No! I don’t want to hear it, Matthews! What made you decide to go behind my back and carry out the bloody search in the first place?’

  She waited to check that he wasn’t going to interrupt her again. ‘The search, whilst unauthorised by you, was legitimate, sir.’ He opened his mouth to interrupt again, but she kept talking. ‘The warrant was signed on Wednesday night when I was still SIO on the investigation. Laura and I found what I believe to be the murder weapon, and it is currently being processed by SSD. I had hoped to have the results before coming to discuss the matter with you this morning. I know I crossed a line, but my motive for doing so was sound. I have it on authority that Fenton killed Watson and torched the warehouse.’

  His face was beginning to return to its normal colour. ‘Whose authority?’

  ‘A confidential informant, sir.’

  ‘You have a CI in Fenton’s organisation?’

  ‘Not exactly, but he did tell me that Fenton would be destroying the weapon yesterday, so I didn’t have time to consult you or Hendrix before making my move. I appreciate that we have procedures for a reason, sir, but I didn’t want to see another criminal walk free because the SIO screwed up the enquiry. I have a lot of respect for DI Hendrix, but she doesn’t have the experience for something like this.’

  ‘What makes this whole bloody mess worse is that you dragged Trotter into it with you.’

  ‘Sir, none of this was Laura’s fault. I forced her to back me up, against her wishes. She made me put it on record that she disagreed with the command. If there’s any punishment to come, she shouldn’t suffer.’

  ‘What kind of example is that to set a junior detective? Do you want her to develop knowing she can get away with ignoring commands from senior officers?’

  ‘No, sir, she knows I was wrong. Let it end with me. She isn’t culpable.’

  ‘Your protection of your team is admirable, but this can’t be allowed to—’ A knock at the door interrupted him. ‘Come back later!’

  There was a second knock on the door, and this time it opened. Laura poked her head around. ‘I’m sorry, sir, ma’am, but I’ve got the results back from SSD on the machete. Blood retrieved from the blade is a positive match for Harold Watson. They are confident it is the same weapon used to remove his head and feet.’ Laura passed a printed copy of the email to Kate, before closing the door and returning to her desk.

  Kate’s shoulders relaxed, as she passed him the email to read.

  ‘You think this gets you out of trouble?’

  ‘But, sir—’

  He raised his hand, and picked up the phone. ‘Hendrix? We have the murder weapon for Watson… yes that one… bring in Danny Fenton now.’

  Kate couldn’t stop her lips from curling up at the edges.

  The supe slammed the phone in its cradle, and studied the printout. ‘Where did you find the weapon?’

  ‘Under the bed in the master bedroom, sir.’

  ‘And what did Fenton say when you found it?’

  ‘He claimed never to have seen it before.’

  ‘Could anyone else have put it there?’

  ‘He keeps the bedroom locked, sir. He had to unlock it to let us in. He also made up some bullshit about his clothes from Monday night being stolen.’

  ‘I want you to go home, Matthews.’

  ‘What? But, sir—’

  ‘Not another word. Go home now. Don’t speak to your team or tell them where you’re going.’

  ‘
You’re suspending me?’

  ‘No, but I’m buying myself some time to decide exactly what I’m going to do with you.’

  ‘But, sir—’

  ‘I said: not another word. You broke the rules, Matthews, and I can’t be seen not taking appropriate action. Go now, but stay close to your phone. Once I’ve spoken with Professional Standards, I’ll be in touch. Oh, and Matthews, don’t try to contact your team once you’ve left the building. You’re off the Jacobs case until further notice.’

  Kate stormed from the room, slamming the door as she went. Stalking along the corridor, she only stopped to grab her bag and jacket. If he was too stubborn to see what was right in front of him, she’d just have to do it on her own.

  57

  Kate was beyond angry as she sped the Audi away from the barrier, gliding across the junction despite the red light and sound of horns blaring left and right. She slammed her hand on the horn as another driver failed to give way at a roundabout but, really, she had no clue where she was going.

  When the Met had suspended her following DC Spencer’s death, she’d gone on a forty-eight-hour bender, but she was too fired up to start drinking. She wanted to turn around, drive back to the office and tell the supe what an idiot he was being, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She thumped the dashboard with her fist instead. Everything she needed to try and prove what Fenton had done was in that office, but she had no way of getting at it. Perhaps she could sneak back later, after the dust had settled.

  Now that she was out of the office she didn’t know what to do with herself. Perhaps she could phone Trish, at work, but after yesterday’s exploitation, she would probably be the last person Trish would want to see. She thought about what Trish had said when she’d got home last night: Quit wasting time, and get to know your daughter, and knew she was right.

  Making a sudden U-turn, she sped off in the opposite direction, to collect Chloe from the childminder.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Chloe asked excitedly as they joined the A31 to Bournemouth.

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  It didn’t take long for Chloe’s excitement to wane, and as they drew closer to Stoney Cross, she called out urgently that she need the toilet.