Desolate Sands Crime Book 5 (Detective Alec Ramsay Crime Mystery Suspense Series)

by Conrad Jones

  “Funny isn’t the word that I would use to describe any of this.”

  “I’m going,” Brendon snapped. He had no idea what his stepfather had done to protect him. “I don’t need a lecture from you.”

  “Phone Geoff, straightaway. Okay?”

  “Okay!” The line went dead. John looked at the screen blankly and then scrolled through to find Geoff’s number. He decided to make the call himself, just to be on the safe side. A loud bang retorted off the walls and echoed down the canal. There were a few high pitched screams and a flash of bright light arced through the sky. The crowd looked towards the source as another rocket exploded and whistled skywards noisily.

  “Fireworks!” a male voice shouted. “Someone has put fireworks into that bin!” Another bang exploded and a blue light shot across the canal and landed on the roof of a houseboat. “I thought I was tripping for a minute there!”

  “Excuse me,” a voice nearby said. John looked up. “I think you’ve dropped something.” John looked down at the floor instinctively. There was a glint of silver and then searing pain across his throat. He dropped the mobile and put his hands to his neck. Thick hot blood squirted between his fingers and soaked down his jacket and through his shirt to his skin within seconds. He tried to scream but it was nothing more than a gurgle. The blade had sliced through his trachea, severing the vocal cords. Blood filled his mouth choking him and the coppery taste of his own life force made him gag. His lungs filled with his own liquids. His vision blurred and his eyes began to fail. As he staggered aimlessly trying to gain attention, he saw a slender man wearing steel rimmed glasses picking up his phone. He slipped it into his pocket and then disappeared into the crowd. John felt his knees buckle and he collapsed onto his back. Blurred faces leaned into view, frightened voices shouted things that he could no longer comprehend. As the last few beats of his heart spurted blood onto the snow covered cobbles, he saw his brother’s face drifting to him from the darkness.

  Chapter 32

  Coopers was frequented by tourists visiting the Albert Docks and by law enforcement officers stationed at Canning Place, which was adjacent to it, across the dark water of the inner docks. As its name suggests, the theme was barrel making in the eighteen hundreds and it was almost a shrine to dark stained wood and brass rails. Behind the bar, wine was pulled from wooden vats, ale from barrels and ciders from oak kegs. It was a busy restaurant but partitioned booths allowed some privacy if it was needed. Alec was well aware of how many headlines had been picked up from Coopers by journalists with acute hearing. When there was a big case running in the local press, every second stool at the bar had a paparazzi perched on it. They sat and drank and listened. Many an officer’s lips had been loosened with the liquor sold there.

  “Dazik Kraznic kidnaps Tasha Jenkins, takes her to Breck Road and then locks her in the cellar,” Annie surmised. She sprinkled salt and vinegar on her fries and eyed the juicy cheese burger which filled the plate in front of her. “Then what was going to happen next?”

  “Unless he decides to tell us himself, then we may never know.” Alec took a swig of cold Tiger beer and savoured the flavour as he swallowed. His burger looked too big to pick up and bite without the contents exploding across the table. He cut it in half with his knife. “Did he take her for his own gratification, or was she taken to order?”

  “Ordered by who?”

  “Whoever was renting Breck Road.”

  “Richard Tibbs,” Annie sounded sure. “Was she destined for a hole on Crosby Beach, or is Kraznic a pervert of a different kind?”

  “You’re convinced that Tibbs is our killer?”

  “One of our victims has left DNA on a mattress at the house on Breck Road. A mattress with DNA on it which has been removed from the database?”

  “But we can only surmise that it was Tibbs DNA.”

  “Granted, but we know two more victims worked there for a period of time and were never heard of until they were found buried. Richard Tibbs’s alias is on the rent book.” Annie shrugged as if it all made perfect sense. “He first alerted us to Crosby Beach.” She paused to bite into her burger and then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He took us there knowing that we would look for Lacey Taylor and find his victims. He wanted us to stop him.”

  “Do you actually believe that psychopaths, like the killer, want to be stopped?” Alec slugged his beer again. “I’m not convinced, Annie.”

  “What they want, is for everyone to know what they have done. They want to show off how clever and ‘special’ they are.”

  “Even if that results in them being caught?”

  “Look at the facts,” she placed her palms flat on the table. “He was involved in some sick shit in Iraq. We have no idea what the hell went on there but we know that it was serious enough for the army to hide him and protect him. They changed his name. He is the man Mark Weston, who rents Breck Road and has the lease on the van, that Dazik Kraznic was driving. His DNA is on a mattress, alongside one of our victim’s blood.” She raised a finger and took a sip of cider from a half-pint glass. “He came to us voluntarily and took us to Crosby Beach, where he knew that we would find the bodies.”

  “Why though?” Alec glanced out of the window. Across the docks a school party was queuing to gain access to the Tate Gallery. Their yellow jumpers made them difficult to miss and hard to lose. They were enthralled by the tall wooden ships which were anchored in the docks. Some of them were play fighting with invisible swords, pretending to be pirates. “We have to assume that if he worked and lived at Breck Road, then he knows the Ryders. He must have worked for them, or for people that they knew?”

  “There’s a good chance that they never met.” Annie said. “The Ryders are clever men. If they were running a brothel from Breck Road, then the chances are that the hired muscle did the dirty work. They may not even know what Tibbs looks like. They may not know that Weston is indeed Tibbs.”

  “Yes.” Alec agreed. “I can swallow that. So why finger Brendon for dumping the dog collar?”

  “Revenge, money, sick sense of humour?” Annie shrugged. “We only have his word for it. We have no evidence of the Ryders being at the beach and we still haven’t found Lacey Taylor.”

  “Yet we know they are connected to Breck Road, Keegan and Tibbs.”

  “What about Dazik Kraznic?” Annie chewed her food and washed it down with cider. “How does he slot in?”

  “Ethnically, he’s more likely to be linked to Kolorov.”

  “And we know that Kolorov has business interests with the Ryders.”

  “And they own Breck Road.”

  “And it’s rented by Mark Weston, Tibbs.”

  “Why take Tasha to Breck Road then?”

  “Maybe you’re right and he was taking her there for someone else.”

  “Tibbs.”

  “It has to be.”

  Alec felt his phone vibrating and held up his hand. “I had better take this.” He held the screen up to Annie. It flashed ‘Kathy Brooks’. “Kathy,” he answered. Making the most of the break in conversation, Annie took another bite of her burger and shoveled some fries in with it. Alec had stopped chewing. His mouth was wide open and the contents were on show for a moment until he realised. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes widened and he shook his head. “And you’re sure?” He ended the call and put the phone on the table, pausing for a moment before meeting Annie’s curious gaze with his own.

  “I think we’d better eat up, Annie.”

  “What’s she found?”

  “The CSI at the Tibbs arrest found a dog buried in his mother’s garden.”

  “Taylor’s dog?”

  “Looks like we’ve got him,” Alec nodded. “Lacey’s daughter identified it as her mother’s dog, Cilla, five minutes ago.”

  “Fucking hell, Guv!” Annie sprayed burger as she spoke. “We’ve got him.”

  “I’m not hungry, any more,” Alec stood up. “Let’s go and charge him.”

 
“I’m right behind you.” Annie said taking a last bite from her burger. “She’s absolutely positive?”

  “Ask her yourself,” Alec warned, “I won’t repeat what she said to me when I asked her if she was sure.”

  Chapter 33

  Jim Stirling parked up and turned the engine off. Across the road, a row of shops stood empty, their shutters covered with graffiti. It was impossible to distinguish what type of business they once were; their hand painted signs were now nothing more than cracked and blistered planks. They were once the hub of a small section of the community, newsagents, fruit and veg shop, hairdressers and bakery. It was a town planner’s blueprint which worked for decades, until the big supermarkets began their insidious spread throughout the inhabited world, decimating small businesses the planet over. Now they were nothing more than decaying shells, already stripped of copper piping and electric wiring sold on for scrap. The first floor windows were blackened rectangles, all apart from one, which had a low wattage light bulb burning inside. It looked like an oasis amongst the dereliction. He checked his phone for the address and then looked up at the only occupied flat on the block. As he did, Janice appeared at the window. She scanned the street and saw him almost immediately. He waved and smiled and she did the same. She gestured to a doorway beneath her. It was set back between two shops. He nodded and climbed out of the car. A single-decker bus trundled by, the lights inside burned brightly. The passengers looked depressed and forlorn. Tired from a day’s work, or a day’s shoplifting. Some were asleep, some almost asleep and the rest wished that they were in the first group.

  He crossed the street and knocked on the door. It opened immediately as if she had been waiting eagerly behind it. “Hey,” she said smiling. “I didn’t think that you would call around.”

  “I said that I would.”

  “You did,” she agreed. “And here you are too!”

  “I came for the photograph,” he lied. He had but he had called because he wanted to see her too. It was madness and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Of course you did,” she flushed red as she spoke. He hadn’t meant to but he had made her feel silly. “Come in and I’ll find it for you.”

  “I don’t think that is a good idea, Janice,” Stirling mumbled. “I could get into trouble because I’m on my own. You know how it works.”

  “Oh, yes,” she stuttered. “Because I’m on the game?” She looked disappointed. “Of course that makes senses. I’ll go and get it.” She looked hurt and mildly offended. “Wait there then.” She turned to walk up the stairs.

  “Why don’t you get your coat as well,” he said after her. “We could go somewhere else.”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you get your coat and I’ll take you for a beer, maybe a curry if you’re hungry?”

  Her face lit up and she smiled. Her complexion was blushed once more. “I’m always hungry,” she laughed, “and I love curry. I’ll be two minutes.”

  “Great,” he stuttered. “I’ll be in the car just over there.”

  “Which one?” she looked confused.

  “That one,” Stirling pointed to the only car on the block, “the BMW.” He looked at the empty street and smiled.

  “Gotcha,” Janice laughed again as she ran up the stairs.

  Jim Stirling couldn’t stop smiling as he crossed the road. He reached the car and opened the door, then squeezed his huge frame into the driver’s seat. Janice slammed the door of the flat and ran to the edge of the pavement. Her coat was over one arm and she had the photograph in her hand. She had pale blue jeans on and a long white jumper. Stirling thought that she looked like anything but what she was. She looked normal. She looked pretty like the girl next door. Janice waited impatiently for a gap in the traffic and then skipped across the road.

  As she ran around to the passenger’s side, Brendon Ryder took her picture from a hundred yards away. “Got yourself a girlfriend, have you?” he whispered to himself as he looked at the image on his phone.

  Chapter 34

  Richard Tibbs was agitated as he sat and waited for the detectives to enter the interview room. The atmosphere was dry and still. He knew that they had turned off the air conditioning to make it more uncomfortable for him. They seemed to forget that he had been a police officer for a long time. He may have worn a different uniform but the job was the same. Arrest criminals, interrogate them, hand over all the evidence to the prosecutors and go to the pub to celebrate. There were many books on how to make a suspect talk. Tibbs had read them all. He had even thought about writing one himself when he was put into the program but it would have breached his anonymity clause. Every detective had a grasp of the basic techniques of interrogation and they usually had a trick of their own up their sleeve for interviewing the bad ones, murderers and rapists. Tibbs had seen it all and more. They weren’t going to stitch him up. Not again. His life had been ruined once.

  Turning off the air conditioning was common practice. Turning it back on was usually done as a favour for the suspect. Are you hot? Tell me about this and we’ll switch on the air con. Are you thirsty? The same rules apply. He looked at the clock on the wall. Since they had sat down, only five minutes had passed. It felt like fifty-five minutes. That was another trick, a big clock on the wall where the suspect can see it. They were positioned so that the suspect could see time dragging by, feel the agony of every single second of captivity ticking away. An hour-long interview would feel like days if you stared at the clock every few seconds and most suspects did. You can’t help it. It is there in front of your face, tick, tick ticking away. It puts all time into perspective. If you can’t handle a few days of interrogation, can you survive years in prison?

  “Relax, Richard,” Alan Williams said. He was the best that the legal aid system could offer him, which wasn’t much. “Relax and tell them everything that you’ve told me and you’ll be out of here in a few hours.”

  “Relax?” Tibbs scoffed. What he had told his brief was a pack of lies. All he had to do was make them convincing. He was good at lying. He always had been. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re on the clock.”

  The door opened and Annie Jones walked in, followed closely by Alec. Tibbs noticed how her trousers hugged her hips and Annie noticed that he had noticed. She scowled at him in disgust. Cursory glances were exchanged with the brief and Annie switched on the recorder. “Interview with Richard Tibbs, DI Anne Jones, DS Alec Ramsay and for the tape please?” she said to the brief.

  “Alan Williams, representing Mr Tibbs.”

  The detectives sat down and positioned their files in front of them. Tibbs knew that the files were padded with blank pages. The thicker the files, the more evidence against him, or that’s what they wanted him to think. Been there and done that, he thought. “How many pages are blank then?” he couldn’t contain himself. It had been his problem all of his life, his temper. That was how he was stitched up in Iraq and he couldn’t let them do it again. No way. He would die before they sent him away. “I’m not going to be intimidated by your thick files, Inspector. It’s the oldest trick in the book!”

  “You can look at them in detail once we’re done,” Alec said calmly. “Your brief will be given copies of everything that we have here. Not a blank page in sight.” Annie stood up and put four bottles of mineral water onto the table, smoothed her black trousers and sat down. Alec loosened his tie and ran his fingers through his tousled sandy hair. They look calm and confident, which bothered Tibbs immensely.

  “It’s a thick file. Must be full of your colouring-in then? Have you been sketching?” Tibbs nudged his brief and snorted. “Either that or it’s your ‘how to stitch up a suspect’ guide, the extended version, eh?” He laughed but his laugh was nervous. His throat was dry. He reached for a water bottle and twisted the lid off. There was something different about the detectives. They viewed him through different eyes today. Something had changed dramatically and it wasn’t in his favour. He thought that Annie had b
ought his version of events, but now she seemed to be looking at him with contempt again. “Don’t look at me as if I’m shit on your shoes, you snooty bitch.”

  “Language, Richard,” Williams advised.

  “I’ve cooperated with you from day one.” He looked from one to the other and then at his brief. Their confidence was making him even more nervous than he already was. “I came to you, remember?”

  Alec looked at Annie and nodded. He fingered the deep dimple on his chin and said, “We can start there if you like.” Tibbs looked confused. “Why did you come to us with the dog collar?”

  Tibbs lowered his head to the table and put his chin on his hands. He smiled. “This isn’t about breaking my bail conditions any longer, is it?”

  “Answer the question, Tibbs,” Annie snapped. “Why did you bring us the dog collar?”

  “Because you weren’t getting anywhere, I was helping you.”

  “You lied about why you were there.”

  “I was giving you that scumbag, Ryder, on a plate!”

  “But you lied about why you were there.” Annie repeated.

  “Yes, but I was scared. I’ve explained that to you and you checked my story.” He tapped the table with a shaking finger. “You checked my story, so what has changed, eh?”

  “We checked as far as we could.” Annie passed some notes typed up by Alec from his visit to Sandhurst. “Major Bradshaw had a slightly different take on your story.”

  “Major fucking Bradshaw?” Tibbs picked up the notes and read them. His hands trembled and his lips moved as if he was reading the words silently. “He’s a conniving bastard. I can explain this.”

  “Sure you can,” Annie said sarcastically.

  “I didn’t tell them that we had a daughter. I didn’t trust any of them and I knew that they would use it against me if they found out.”

  “So the Major lied?”

  “No,” Tibbs snapped. “He didn’t lie. He didn’t know about our daughter, so how would he know about my grandchildren?”