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

by Conrad Jones

  “You’ve come up in the world haven’t you?” A voice startled her. She turned to see a man in a tracksuit grinning at her. A black baseball cap covered his head and dark glasses masked his eyes. “And you’re up the duff too, dirty bitch,” he laughed hoarsely.

  “Do I know you?” Janice asked. She racked her brain for the slightest memory of his face. She couldn’t remember him as a customer, but she knew him from somewhere. He was familiar in a bad way. She looked around for other people but it was quiet.

  “No, you don’t know me,” he said with a smile tinged with evil. “But I know you. I didn’t think it would last between you and him but here you are. Fancy him shacking up with a whore.” Janice frowned and swallowed hard. She was beginning to feel frightened by his presence. His tone was acidic and he knew too much about her for her liking. He was enjoying her discomfort and confusion. “You live with the big fat copper don’t you?”

  “Fuck off!” Janice snapped. She tensed, anger and anxiousness grappled inside her. “Jim would kick your teeth in, if he heard you talking to me like that.”

  “Oh, but he’s not here is he?” Brendon took his hand from his pocket and pointed his nine millimetre at her unborn baby. Her mouth opened in a silent scream but no sound came out. “Now, me and you are going for a drive.” He gestured towards a white Mercedes Vito with the gun. It was parked next to her car. “Get in,” he said staring at her. Janice looked around for help but there was no one nearby. “Scream and I’ll put a bullet through your little piglet there. Now move!” As he turned sideways, she recognised his profile. He was the man that Jim had been ranting about for weeks. She couldn’t remember his name but she was convinced that it was him. Jim told her that he was responsible for all the murders on the Beach at Crosby. He was the Butcher.

  Janice let go of the trolley and walked towards the side door, which was already open. Leaving a trolley full of shopping which she had paid for stressed her more than it should under the circumstances, but she guessed that was just a natural emotion. With legs that were full of lead, she stepped towards the van. Her bottom lip quivered and she felt a trickle of urine leaking down her thigh as she climbed into the van. As he slammed the door closed and locked it, in the near total darkness the tears started to flow.

  Chapter 47

  Annie climbed out of the minibus and looked around. She heard the rear door sliding open as the uniformed search team was deployed. The trees and hedges on both sides of the roads were untended and overgrown. Once a busy thoroughfare, Mother Nature was reclaiming the tarmac and concrete, inch by inch. “Comb the extended area around the buildings while we wait,” she ordered the team of officers who were exiting from the rear door. Above them a corrugated iron canopy branded with the faded and peeling Esso logo was supported by two crumbling brick columns. Beneath the canopy, the skeletons of four petrol pumps stood like rusty sentinels guarding the derelict fuel station. Thistles and nettles protruded through cracks in the concrete forecourt and oil stains, decades old, spotted the area around the pumps. A barely readable ‘no smoking on the forecourt’ sign made her smile on the inside. She envisaged the service bays full of greasy mechanics working with hand rolled cigs hanging from the corner of their mouths. That was way back in the days when health and safety was nothing more than an a sensible idea. “Start on the left of the property and sweep right to the stream.”

  “Roger that, left to right, Guv,” a uniformed officer said. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  “Until we can get inside, look for signs of recent activity, for now.” She sighed and watched Alec’s BMW pulling into the forecourt, closely followed by Stirling in a marked police car with an armed unit behind him. “I’m hoping this is our warrant arriving to search inside,” she explained to a uniformed sergeant as she studied the building. The main structure was a one storey unit with a double service bay at one end and what would have been a shop, selling car parts, newspapers, cigarettes and sundries, at the other. Although she couldn’t see it from the front, Annie knew that there was a bungalow attached to the rear where the owners dwelled. “Records showed that Gary Bissell was the only son of Gary senior and Carol. They were the owner-occupiers of the service station, until it closed down when the local planners built the Crosby bypass, diverting their traffic and strangling their business.”

  “I remember this place being open, Guv,” he pointed to the old shop as he spoke. “I’ve stopped here many times to buy crisps for the kids on the way to the fair at Southport. They must be getting on in years now. I am surprised they’re still here.”

  “We know that the Bissels stayed in the bungalow. They’re claiming disability allowance and their council tax and utility bills are paid up to date. We’ve tried to contact them but all efforts have failed.” They turned as Alec approached in a huff. The wrinkles in his face deepened when he was angry.

  “We can’t get a bloody warrant,” Alec held his hands up in the air; his face like thunder.

  “What?” Annie gasped.

  “The judge says that no crime has been committed by them and he can’t see any connection between the Bissell’s property and our case. The fact that their son was friendly with Ryder, is negated by the fact he is long since dead. He is not prepared to allow forced entry into their home when they could be visiting relatives or taking a cruise.”

  “Was he stoned?” Annie whined. “We need to get access to this building.”

  “This station hasn’t been open for how long?” Alec asked. He walked across the forecourt and peered into the old shop unit. The reinforced glass was threaded with wire mesh, which made it almost impossible to see through. Decades of grime compounded visibility. He rubbed the glass but it made no difference. “The bypass was finished twenty years ago, right?”

  “Right,” Annie agreed.

  “I would be surprised if the structure is still intact and secure all the way around.”

  “Me too,” Annie agreed. “Places left empty like this are vandalised all the time.”

  “Especially when the owners are not there.”

  “We had better check if they are, or not.”

  “Let’s give it a once over and see what we can find, shall we?” Alec moved towards the opposite end where the service bays were. The bays were separated by a metre wide column of brick and secured by metal concertina doors. A tin sign was screwed to the brick, rusted and faded by time. “The Michelin Man,” Alec said pointing to the battered tin. “It’s a tyre pressure guide. Do you remember them?”

  “No, Guv,” Annie grimaced. She looked preoccupied.

  “Ford Granada, Escort, Cortina, Capri,” he read from the list. “I had all of them at some point in time,” he mumbled to himself. No one else was interested. He checked over the service bay doors. The blue paint was cracked and flaky. Thick padlocks the size of grapefruits fastened the doors to the concrete supports. Annie touched one of the padlocks and lifted it up to inspect it. Rust spots covered it and it felt pitted by the weather but the keyhole itself was shiny. She showed it to Alec. “That has been used recently.” He commented.

  Annie rubbed her foot against the floor in a semicircle. Her toes scraped against the concrete. “Look here,” she pointed at the dirt and debris. “Blue paint flakes. These doors have been opened as recently as today.”

  “Today?”

  “The wind and rain would have washed this away otherwise.”

  “This side has been used but not as recently.” Stirling said from the next bay. “The keyhole in the lock is shiny but I don’t think the door has been opened for a while.” He rattled the door hard but although it was noisy, nothing gave. “I’ll take a look around the back. You never know.”

  “Under the circumstances,” Alec said. “I think that we should start with the living areas. If there are vehicles in there, they can only open the doors from outside. They’re not going anywhere.”

  “Agreed,” Stirling said. “I’ll take a team this way, you take the other.”

/>   “I’ll keep you company, Guv,” Annie agreed. They walked along the front elevation of the service station and stopped when they reached the corner. A concrete path hugged the walls and led past two bedroom windows before reaching an arched porch built from red brick. The wedge-shaped keystone, which supported the arch, had the numerals 1960 chiselled into it. The bungalow’s roof was thick with green moss and the window frames were cracked and peeling. Tall chimney pots reached skyward from a central stack. Patterned net curtains hung in the windows, greyed with age and frayed at the edges. The windowsills inside were spotted with mold. Annie could almost smell the damp through the glass. “There’s condensation inside the glass here,” Annie said as she past a bedroom. “There is some type of heating on inside.”

  “Maybe someone is at home, after all?” Alec stepped into the porch and knocked hard on the door. “Mr Bissell!” He shouted through the letterbox. “This is the police. Please open the door.” He peered through the flap into a hallway which hadn’t been decorated since the eighties. “Mr Bissell!” he tried again. Suddenly his body tensed. “Oh, shit!”

  “What is it?” Annie asked concerned. Alec sniffed the air coming through the letter box.

  “I can smell gas,” Alec snapped. “He caused the explosion at Breck Road. He’s trying the same thing again. Get everyone back.”

  “I’ll find the meter box, Guv,” Annie shouted as she ran for the corner of the bungalow. “You break all the windows; I’ll cut off the supply.”

  “You heard her,” Alec said to the uniformed officers nearby. “Break the windows! I need an armed officer on each room, in case anyone in there has a weapon.” Two officers drew their batons and stepped forward. Covering their eyes, they shattered the windows with a series of heavy blows. The armed officers ripped down the curtains and aimed their weapons inside. As Annie turned the corner, she heard the glass shattering and ran as fast as she could around the side of the building. The side wall was solid, no doors, no windows and no sign of any utilities entering the building. She slipped in knee high grass and stumbled around the next corner. Stirling was a hundred yards away behind the service bays. “Look for the gas meter!” She shouted to him. “It must be on one of the outer walls. We need to cut off the supply, quickly!”

  Stirling frowned and looked along the foundation walls. The rear was overgrown and resembled a scrapyard. Grasses and brambles grew to waist height. The rusting hulk of a Commer van was surrounded by scrap wheels and used tyres. Half a dozen car doors of different shapes and sizes were rotting against the rear wall of the service bays. He sent a uniformed officer back the way that they had come, to check for the gas supply. “I can’t see anything,” he called. “It must be at the front.”

  “Bollocks!” Annie muttered as she turned and ran around the side of the bungalow, back towards the front of the house. Alec had his arms folded and looked unworried. The uniformed officers waited patiently for orders. “Mr and Mrs Bissell don’t seemed bothered that you have smashed their windows,” Annie said catching her breath. She was surprised that there had been no reaction from inside the house. “We can’t find where the gas supply enters the building. It must run underground and be connected to a meter inside.”

  “I agree,” Alec nodded and winked. “As soon as the smell of gas has cleared, send the armed unit in first. We know he’s armed so it’s best not to risk it.”

  Annie signalled to the armed unit and they moved in line to the front door. They knew that there was little danger. A frightened criminal would have opened fire, or bolted for freedom as soon as the windows were smashed. “Do you think that the gas will be cleared by now,” she asked. Her eyebrows were raised.

  “Should be.”

  “There was no gas was there?” She said quietly.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Inspector. I clearly smelled gas.”

  Annie frowned and waved the armed officers in. A heavy metal battering ram took the door from its hinges with a single blow. The structure was as fragile as the exterior. “Armed police!” Their shouts reached them. “Armed police!” The backup unit moved in formation and Annie waited impatiently until the calls were all clear.

  “Clear.” There was silence for a moment and then uniformed shapes filed back into the hallway and porch. “You need to get in there, Guv.” The senior officer said from the ruined front door. His face was pale and ashen. A second armed officer staggered out of the door and dropped to his knees. He wretched onto the path and the sound of vomit splattering onto the concrete seemed unusually loud. Seeing a hardened police officer forced to the point of nausea didn’t bode well for what was inside. “I’ll call CSI,” he added with a grimace.

  Alec and Annie exchanged glances and walked to the porch. There was no lingering odour of gas in fact Annie was now sure that there was no gas supply at all. The building was old and isolated. She guessed that Alec had used the ploy of gas leaking to gain access to the bungalow. His ethics were sometimes questionable, but on this occasion, she admired his ingenuity. Annie stepped through the door and the smell of damp hit her first, followed quickly by the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. As she stepped inside the hallway, the stench of urine and excrement mingled with decay to inform her that this was a murder scene, before she had even seen a body. They took latex gloves from their pockets and put them on. She looked around. A low telephone table sat near the wall to the left. A green telephone sat on it, the hand piece connected to the main body with a coiled flex; the circular dial was well used, the numerals beneath worn by friction from a dialing finger. The table had a padded faux leather seat attached, so that the phone could be used in comfort. Annie thought it was like stepping back in time. The museum-like image was topped by a seventies style pop-up telephone index sat next to the phone.

  The carpet was mustard coloured with deep swirling patterns cut into it. The walls were painted chocolate brown and covered in matching Artex swirls. To the right a doorway led into a small lounge. The stench of death thickened to the point where she could almost taste it. “They were home, after all,” Annie covered her mouth and nose with her hand. She took a jar of eucalyptus, unscrewed the top and smeared a blob under her nose. Handing it to Alec, he followed suit. A threadbare Wilton covered the floor, the once vivid colours jaded by time and the presence of a coal fire in the room. The scent of cinders and sulphur were detectable beneath the smell of dead bodies. A Welsh dresser covered in blue Delftware plates and brass ornaments dominated the rear wall. “They haven’t been dead long. The blood here is still congealing.” She pointed to a crease in Mr Bissell’s trousers where his blood had run down his torso and pooled in the material around the zipper. The surface of the blood was thickened but it was clearly still liquid beneath.

  “I’m thinking the same here,” Alec said looking at Mrs Bissell. “She’s been nailed through the hands and wrists to the armchair, with a nail gun, at a guess. The nails are too deeply embedded for anything else. Her throat has been slit from behind.” The old woman didn’t look real. She looked like an extra from a zombie movie. A shock of frizzy grey hair defied gravity. Her eyes were wide and accusing, her tongue discoloured and hanging from the corner of her blackened lips. The rent in her throat looked like a huge second mouth. Her dressing gown was soaked in her blood. It was a scene from a George A Romero film. Alec looked at Annie for details from her side of the room. She looked sickened yet enthralled as she circled the old man.

  “Mr Bissell is the same, Guv.” She sighed. “Nailed to the chair through the wrist and forearm, beaten and his throat is slashed. Looking at the arterial spray on the wall, he was very much alive when that happened.”

  “It wasn’t quick,” Alec added solemnly.

  “I’m going to look around the rest of the house,” Annie said. She couldn’t wait to get away from the carnage in front of her. The vile stench was oppressive, making it difficult not to gag. “We should leave the real evaluation of how they died to Kathy, or we’ll be on the receiving end of a t
ongue lashing.” She stepped out of the lounge and felt a wave of relief flow over her as she left the murdered couple behind. The heartbreak of the situation wasn’t lost on her. Their life would have made some of Shakespeare’s tragedies seem like a comedy sketch. Married young, decades ago, they went into a life of matrimony together, lived and breathed a business together, had a child, then through no fault of their own, lost everything together. In the twilight of their lives, their son died and then to top things off, they were tortured and slain together in their own armchairs. Probably by someone they were trying to help. If there was some kind of cosmic macabre irony in that, Annie couldn’t see it. “What a waste of two lives,” she muttered. Her stomach was knotted with angst. There were days when she wished there was an off switch or at least a fast forward option. Alec touched her shoulder sensing her distress. “I’m dissecting the tragic lives, of a tragic couple, who were slaughtered in tragic circumstances and the only word that I can think of to describe it all?”

  “Tragic?”

  “Pointless,” she sighed. They both laughed but it was nerves making them find humour in the sadness. “Completely fucking pointless.”

  “It is a difficult one to get your head around,” Alec said concerned. Annie was normally titanium coated. Nothing much ruffled her, or even scratched the surface. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that she had suffered a major trauma and then returned to work as if she had recovered from the flu. “Best not to dwell on it, Annie. Stay focused.”

  “It’s not just their murder, Guv,” Annie said with a sigh. “Look around. They worked all their lives, to get fucked by the highways department and end up living in a shithole while their world disintegrated around them. Makes you wonder where the justice is, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, what is it all about?” Annie stopped and took a deep breath. She felt her emotions bubbling beneath the surface. The sight of such evilness, the smell of violent death, the certain knowledge that they would have been more frightened for each other than they were for themselves, shook her to her soul. Her knees felt weak and she had to slow her breathing down. Not only did they have the time to contemplate their own hideous demise, they had to watch their soulmate screaming in agony before they died. Annie wasn’t sure which was worse. “What could they possibly have had that was worth doing that to them?”