Never Say Goodbye: An edge of your seat thriller with gripping suspense (Detective Tom Fabian Book 1)

by Richard Parker

  Toby shook his head. ‘I should go.’

  ‘Probably best to. It’s cold.’

  Toby put on his seatbelt but then turned to Fabian. ‘You know she’s seeing someone else?’

  Fabian frowned. ‘No, I think you’ve got that wrong, Toby.’

  ‘Not that she’d tell you,’ Toby said contemptuously.

  It was a fair point but he didn’t like the sneer on Toby’s face. ‘I know this sounds glib but… you’re young. You will find someone else.’

  ‘Like you have?’ Toby’s expression didn’t alter.

  ‘Toby, this conversation’s over. Go home.’

  ‘I’m going.’ He started the engine.

  ‘And probably best you don’t come around here again.’

  Toby mumbled something.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I said, what’s it got to do with you anyway?’ Toby turned to him and enunciated each word.

  Looked like now it was over with Tilly, Toby didn’t care about being polite to her father. Fabian was briefly speechless.

  ‘I’ll come by here if I want. Or are you going to take me in?’

  ‘Toby. I know you’re angry but you’d better go before you say something you regret.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  Was that alcohol he could smell on his breath? ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘You going to breathalyse me as well?’

  ‘You’d better step out of the car, Toby.’

  ‘Maybe a rectal search? Plant some drugs on me?’

  ‘Toby.’

  Toby reversed sharply, and Fabian quickly dragged his foot away before the front tyre rolled over it.

  ‘Toby, you’re being an idiot. Switch off the engine. You can walk home from here.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances.’ He turned the vehicle to pull out.

  ‘Hold it.’ Fabian put his hand over the doorframe. ‘You might think your evening can’t get any worse—’

  ‘You don’t rule the roost any more. Never did, from what I understand.’

  ‘OK, you’ve pushed it too far.’

  The window started rolling up. ‘Looks like we’ll both be sitting alone in our sad little bedrooms tonight.’

  Toby pulled out.

  Fabian headed for his car and tried to dismiss the incident. Toby was angry but he’d just seen an unnerving side to him. Maybe that was why Tilly had wanted shot of Toby? Or perhaps he’d hidden that part of himself from her. He didn’t have time to deal with Toby now but would call his father when he got the chance. He dropped into his front seat and closed the door. Had to prioritise. Pulling out, he headed in the opposite direction to Toby.

  Had Tilly really been seeing someone else the same time as Toby? That didn’t seem like his daughter at all. Maybe Toby was paranoid. Or was it his way of making her dumping him easier to bear?

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘They’re all street names.’ Fabian dropped into his seat and opened his browser.

  Banner and Finch rose from their own chairs and joined him. They still had their coats on. The office heating still hadn’t been repaired.

  ‘London street names?’ Banner asked.

  Fabian nodded while he opened a map of the city.

  ‘But there’s probably a street in London that corresponds with all our surnames.’ Finch sat on the edge of the desk.

  Banner remained silent. She knew better and waited for Fabian to enlarge the map.

  ‘These names are all part of a route.’ He stabbed his finger at Langham Street and then indicated the one that was connected to it. ‘Middleton Place, which leads to…?’

  Banner leaned forward. ‘Riding House Street.’

  Fabian traced his finger along it until he came to the second street off it. ‘And there’s Wells.’

  Finch exhaled. ‘Shit muffins.’

  Banner’s eyes darted as she asked the inevitable question. ‘So which street is next?’

  Fabian moved the map downwards. ‘Bywell or Mortimer.’

  ‘The name of our next victim.’ She sat back as she absorbed the implications.

  Fabian nodded. ‘He’s using his victims to lead us in a specific direction.’

  Finch thoughtfully rubbed his stubble.

  ‘How many Mortimers are there living in London?’ Banner took off her specs.

  ‘Exactly.’ Fabian zoomed the map out. ‘Wells also leads to Booth’s Place and Margaret Street. Could be those names. And the victims are being targeted all over the city.’

  ‘So what next?’

  Neither of them answered Finch.

  Fabian tried to slow his circulation. It was a good question. But identifying the connection and the next victim’s possible name didn’t present the sort of advantage the revelation seemed to promise.

  ‘Do we tell Metcalfe?’

  ‘No,’ Fabian snapped at Banner a little too abruptly. ‘No. Let’s just take a moment before matters are dictated to us.’

  She nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘First thing we have to do is identify the relevance of this route. Find out anything we can about the area and if anything significant occurred along it.’

  ‘D’you think we were ever expected to find this?’ Banner gestured at the map.

  ‘Four victims later, maybe. Or perhaps they’ve just only started along their path. They’re going to a lot of trouble to stick to it. That’s why they specifically targeted Janet Wells.’

  Banner put her specs back on. ‘Where is it leading?’

  Fabian studied the map as well. ‘At the moment they’re heading towards Oxford Street, but they could go in any direction.’

  ‘Should I head over there now? Walk the route.’ Finch started zipping up his jacket.

  ‘Nobody has been attacked along it yet but we should take a look. Any luck with the security camera opposite the retirement home?’

  ‘No.’ Finch grabbed his car keys. ‘The off-licence owner has it positioned over the shop entrance. It wasn’t a wide enough angle to see the other side of the street.’

  ‘No other cameras within sight?’

  Finch shook his head at Fabian.

  ‘There’ll be plenty of CCTV options here.’ He pointed to the area on the map. ‘They might have walked it, too, but it could have been months ago. Where’s McMann?’

  ‘He’s skulking around here somewhere.’ Finch flitted his eyes about.

  ‘Get him onto it; we should use him until we get some more personnel. At least he doesn’t have to be briefed.’

  ‘He was pretty uncommunicative with me earlier.’ Banner stood.

  ‘We don’t have time for wound licking. He’s part of the new team now. Let him know that.’ Fabian followed Banner’s gaze over his shoulder.

  McMann was standing there. ‘Message received… sir.’

  Fabian nodded. ‘There’s a job for you.’ He stood and gestured to Finch. ‘Let’s head out.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Through drizzle, Fabian and Finch walked the route from Langham Street, through Middleton Place, along Riding House Street and down Wells Street. Fitzrovia wasn’t an area that Fabian was overly familiar with. It was just after ten on a Tuesday night.

  ‘Plenty of security cameras to choose from.’ Finch kept his eyes above the doorways.

  They passed Bywell Place, Mortimer Street, Booth’s Place, Margaret Street and Marylebone Passage and came to a pub called The Champion. There was a distinct buzz coming from its lit interior. The windows were stained glass and Fabian could see plenty of drinkers inside.

  ‘Might be worth calling in. If anything happened locally somebody in there will know.’

  Fabian nodded. Although Finch didn’t touch alcohol he had a gift for coaxing information from drinkers. ‘I’m buying.’

  Finch led the way through the door and Fabian took in the busy traditional black-beamed interior. It was a typical Sam Smith’s pub – the Tadcaster brewery still maintained a number of pubs in Central London and their beer was still th
e cheapest pint in town. Fabian bought a Coke for himself and a juice for Finch and settled himself at a rear table while his colleague worked the room.

  He took in the detail of the stained-glass windows and noted they all depicted sportsmen – a cricketer, a boxer, a tennis player. Another hidden treasure that he didn’t know existed. Fabian had spent his entire life in and around London and knew he still wouldn’t discover it all even if he had his time over again.

  Finch chatted to the staff and one of them pointed him to an older man sitting on a stool at the far end of the bar. Fabian gulped his drink and realised just how thirsty he was before he spotted a laminated notice amongst the pub quiz posters.

  ‘BLOODY LONDON WALK’

  He rose and crossed the floor to read it.

  ‘EVERY THURSDAY’

  ‘Leaving outside this pub at 6 and returning 7.30. Walk the streets and discover an historical and hidden world of debauchery and murder. For bookings call—’

  The phone number had been written in with a biro but had faded. Fabian took it down from the wall and walked to the bar. He waited for a wiry barman with dyed black and swept back hair to finish serving a customer and held it up.

  ‘Who can I speak to about this?’

  ‘If you’re interested I can put your name down. If you wanted to do it this week you might be out of luck though.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Stephan isn’t around this week.’

  ‘Stephan?’

  ‘Our resident historian.’ The barman couldn’t help rolling his sunken eyes. ‘He’s had a few things on his plate but I can find out when his next walk is. This time of the year there’s not a lot of demand.’

  ‘Have you got a contact number?’

  ‘He prefers for me to take the bookings.’ The barman looked wary.

  ‘If you’ve got one I’d be grateful if you could dig it out.’ Fabian produced his ID.

  ‘What’s he done?’ The barman didn’t sound surprised.

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Drinks all the money he earns from his walks in here. Drinks on his medication as well. We’ve had a few… episodes.’

  ‘Violent?’ Finch had joined Fabian again.

  The barman’s eyes darted to him. ‘No. Just… disturbing. Bit of an introvert but friendly enough. It’s gone dark quickly on a couple of occasions though.’

  ‘What happened?’ Fabian noticed a couple of the regulars on stools at the bar had suspended their conversations to listen.

  ‘Took issue with a girl in here. I had to tell him to leave.’

  ‘Over what?’ Fabian asked.

  ‘I actually thought he’d pulled. He’d put the hours in with her. They’d been chatting all night and then he stands up and starts yelling in her face.’

  Finch nodded. ‘And that wasn’t the only occasion?’

  ‘I think he’s on the spectrum. Always blames his medication but I’m not so sure. I’ve refused to serve him on a couple of occasions. I can always tell when he’s getting twitchy though. Wait.’ The barman took his phone from under the counter and skimmed through his contacts. ‘Here we are. Stephan Cousins.’ He reeled off the number he had for him.

  ‘Thanks.’ Fabian tapped it into his contacts, and Finch did the same.

  ‘But I’m sure he told me he was away this week. Haven’t seen him in here since last… Wednesday?’

  ‘Wednesday for sure?’ Fabian watched him roll his eyes up.

  ‘No. Maybe it was earlier than that. Ted?’

  One of the men seated at the bar looked up as if he hadn’t been listening.

  ‘Can you remember the last time Gladstone was in here?’

  ‘Tuesday.’ He nodded firmly but didn’t turn to look at the policemen.

  ‘Gladstone?’ Finch repeated.

  The barman grinned. ‘He used to do Jack the Ripper walks. Dressed the part and carried his trademark Gladstone bag around with him for the punters.’

  ‘Used to keep his sandwiches in it.’ Ted grinned but still didn’t turn.

  Fabian gauged from the amused expressions along the bar that Stephan had never become part of the crowd.

  ‘Should I tell him you’re looking for him if he comes in?’

  Fabian shook his head. ‘No. I’m going to call him now.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Stay away from me!’ Emily had a pair of nail scissors in her hand and held them out at him at arm’s length.

  He only had to worry if she got them anywhere near his eyes, and as he entered the bathroom he met her terrified gaze. She’d been quick. Had heard him stealing along the landing before he’d reached her.

  ‘There’s money in the downstairs safe. I’ll give you the combination.’

  He felt sorry for her, cowering by the sink in her peach bathrobe and white towelling turban. He’d kill her quickly. Didn’t want her to suffer. ‘Try to calm down.’ He held up both hands to placate her.

  ‘Take what you want. Just leave me alone.’ She swiped at him with the blunt blades.

  Mostyn barked once from downstairs. He’d locked him in the lounge. He waited, afraid the animal might alert the neighbours. But there was no further sound. ‘Ssshhh.’

  Her petrified features glistened with freshly applied cream. ‘Don’t!’ she warned as he took a pace forward.

  He could feel the cold bulk of the blade tucked in the rear of his waistband. ‘I’m not going to harm you.’ He tried to sell the lie, but could see in her expression that it hadn’t worked.

  Her eyes bulged unblinking. ‘My husband will be home in the next few minutes.’

  Now she was lying. It made him feel better. He took another step, and she darted forward and made a stabbing movement towards him, the blades inches away.

  ‘If you do that again, you’ll just make matters worse.’ He could hear the tremble in his voice now as well.

  The muscle in her chin distorted her bottom lip. ‘What do you want?’ she sobbed through her teeth.

  ‘Put them down and I’ll explain.’ But she would have no explanation.

  She shook her head and arced the scissors in front of her three times.

  He lunged forward and grabbed the wrist of the hand holding her weapon with his rubber sheathed fingers. The scissors clattered into the sink.

  ‘No!’ She tried to jab her knee into his balls.

  But he forced his body forward, crushing her against the wall. He heard the back of her skull connect with the tiles and tried to secure her other wrist.

  ‘Please—’ she pleaded and twisted her face away from his.

  Emily was a beautiful woman. Slightly cruel-looking but beautiful nonetheless. He probably wouldn’t have to force himself on her if she wanted to live. But the thought was only fleeting. This wasn’t sexual. He pushed it aside and spoke into her ear.

  ‘Stay still.’

  Emily flinched.

  ‘I’ll be quick.’

  She suddenly twisted her moist fingers quickly out of his grasp and slid down the wall, her body balling up at his feet.

  He took a step back. ‘Stay down there.’

  She had both hands covering the top of her head.

  He wondered if the neighbours had heard her first scream.

  The dog barked again. He’d release it on his way out.

  ‘Please,’ she begged through her nose.

  He knew she had her eyes closed. That she was waiting for whatever would happen but praying the outcome would be anything other than the one she expected.

  ‘Just don’t look up.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Mr Cousins?’ The phone was answered after three rings, and Fabian turned from the street to the wall outside The Champion.

  ‘Yes?’ The fragile voice the other end responded warily.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Fabian and I was given your number by Noel at The Champion pub. Is this a convenient time?’

  ‘Police? What’s this about?’

  Fa
bian could hear water dripping in whichever room Cousins was in.

  ‘I’d really rather talk to you in person. Could you give me your address?’

  No reply.

  ‘Mr Cousins?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ His tone was instantly panicky. ‘Why are you calling me?’

  ‘I just need to ask you a few questions about the tours you run. Noel seems to think you live nearby. As I’m in the neighbourhood—’

  ‘I’m not at home,’ Cousins blurted.

  ‘No matter. Will you be back tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can I ask where you are?’

  A long pause filled by dripping. ‘My sister’s.’

  ‘And where does she live?’

  ‘Dorking,’ he said, flatly.

  ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘Not until next week.’

  ‘I’d prefer to speak to you sooner. I could send an officer there.’ It was a threat. Fabian suspected he was lying. ‘What is your home address?’

  ‘What do you need to know that for?’ His voice rose an octave.

  ‘I need to know where I can reach you.’

  ‘You’ve got my number.’

  ‘The address, please.’

  ‘How do I know you’re who you say you are?’

  Fabian opened his mouth to respond.

  ‘You could be anyone trying to scam me. I’m hanging up.’

  ‘Mr Cousins, if you do that we’ll have to locate your address ourselves. I can give you a number you can ring to verify my identity.’

  Cousins breathed erratically against the mouthpiece and Fabian heard him open a door and close it. The dripping sound ceased. ‘You don’t need to send anyone. I can head back… tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t want to cut short your visit but I would appreciate that. What time shall we call on you?’

  ‘Late afternoon?’

  Fabian got the distinct impression he was playing for time. ‘I’d prefer the morning.’

  ‘It’ll have to be midday.’

  ‘OK. Address?’